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My middle child, it sometimes seems, has spent most of her life on a swing.  At the top of the arc while swinging there is a pause.  Stillness.  I love to think of her feeling that momentary stillness within her body while she becomes part of sky, cloud, leaves, air.  “Look, Mama,” we so often hear at playgrounds, “I can touch the sky.” And it’s true.

 

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