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58 a small, GOne mOment Claudia kneels by the open doors of the shed, filling long feeders with a scoop, the center around which the scene plays. A tube of thistle for her goldfinches, another oily sunflower for cardinals, titmice, whatever arrives. Both, of course, for the fat, stub-tailed squirrel without respect. Have I mentioned yet that Jasper lopes round her in circles, jerky, arthritic gestures but happily in the action nonetheless? Claudia wears her old green coat, the thick cotton one I love and sometimes slip into though sleeves expose my wrists. And yes, I’m there as well, in the shadows of the porch with a mug, waiting to be recognized and waved to. It’s a simple moment among thousands, lived only by the three of us, only for us and the winter sun, 59 and I know with absolute certainty, the instant tumbling through my arms, that I’ll never be happier, never fuller, never again have as much of what I want, one small, gone moment following another, until no more. And all that sweet magic finished. ...

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