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May 29, 2004
The refreshing edge of mornings chill is universal – it bites at one’s legs with the same eager teeth in Washington Heights as it does on the Oregon Coast, on the Montana plains nestled at the foot of the Rockies, in the fields that huddle along the Hudson. You must make minor adjustments for latitude, of course; your age; your exact location in the dizzying array of memories and anticipations - but when the sky is that perfect pulsing pale blue and the breeze whispers to the branches just so, there is the knowledge you have been here before. Nothing is new.