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Someone told me a story Friday morning and it left a big impression. In it, a rare bird tells a haughty prince 3 great secrets that wind up changing his perspective for the rest of his life. Saving the story for another time, it was...

I smell my childhood through the westward breeze. Strands of the same brown meandering hair whisper across my cheek. The collective masts of sailboats still block the ripples of blue from my sight as I stare with desperation and imagination as far east as unrealistically possible. Blasts of silence guide my ears to the flow...