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I hadn't noticed: the tree out back in full fruit, (a few apples already fallen in the stubbly grass) - the little hearts of the young birch, going gold or simply gone - and my neighbor's infant son has somehow learned to stand. (Holding his mother's hand, he reaches for red stars high in the branches.) How many days have I spent alone within the confines of this notebook? This morning, I will go for a walk without me.