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Our little town in winter

By Margaret L. Dombo / January 7, 1983

Apart in our firmament, still as a heartbeat white as forgiveness, shimmering as integrity, hangs our little village. It has enfolded itself with gossamer gauze, impenetrable Surrounding hills are forgotten stars. Alone in our enchantment, we pull our little lanes up under our chins, cover them with angels' dust. And feel the serenity of a sleeping infant, the quiet of an unspoken blessing and the peace of prayer.

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