And for this morning, a chicken pie--no, wait, that won't do--introducing the little ones to lives of such complexity. Maybe deep dish beef--how much more less so. The whole thing's caboodle. Such sweetness goes not with feedlot fare, so it's to berry we turn--picked fresh, off the vine, a wild tangle alongside the henhouse--the local jungle in late summer--yes, late summer--somewhere in the world--and there's again the rub. One can't even nibble safely.
Back to gleaning, rows of harvest corn, end of autumn. There but for the taking...
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