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Returning Mrs. Griffel's casserole

Can't see over the stiff brown grasses or between their narrow rough leaves: walk a rustling tunnel, sky thatched out. This dry path, beaten down to dirt, is used by neighbors' dogs and cats; by rabbits, woodchucks, snakes; by wolves, saber-toothed tigers, ogres, witches, trolls. Can't hurry: hold the big casserole with both hands; keep my eyes fixed on its rattling lid. Can't stop: come to a fork, go the way of the foot that gets there first. Keep on going. At last, a yellow clearing, blue sky, a red brick house, Mrs. Griffel out back calling -- waving! Lift the casserole into her hands.

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