My daughter B says, "I think Heaven is like a non-stop home."
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The 100 degree sunshine glitters sharply off the red, green, and gold strip-mall Christmas tree ornaments.
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A woman wrestles a bouquet of lilies and greenery and a large bunch of balloons into a silver subcompact.
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The bottle caps littering the dirt path gleam the same red as Christmas tinsel.
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The sprig of rosemary is already working its magic: she is remembering to forget.
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The man bustles into the counseling office carrying a pair of dun slacks and blowing out a sigh.
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