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At that time of year when the air has turned cool, the cornstalks have turned brown, and the leaves are falling, splashing their color on the ground...and the geese are flying, and the crows are calling from the empty fields, it seems there are pumpkins everywhere.
Some are so small they fit in your hand. Others are positively huge.
Then one snowflake.
All snowflakes know is snow, snow, and snow. Snowflakes keep coming and coming and coming, circling and swirling, spinning and twirling, dancing, playing, there, and there, floating through the air, falling falling everywhere. And rooftops grow lighter and lighter.
It was late one winter night, long past my bedtime, when Pa and I went owling. There was no wind. The trees stood still as giant statues.
Pa made a long shadow, but mine was short and round. I had to run after him every now and then to keep up, and my short, round shadow bumped after me. But I never called out.
Paul crawled out cautiously. He hung his head over the side of his bed and his hair fell straight down. The upside-down bed bottom was indeed very empty, if you didn't count a broken fire truck and a flock of dust bunnies.
I looked down and realized I was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There was a circle of dry floor around me. I didn't have one drop of water on my clothes. Nothing. I stood up, my legs shaky.