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“It feels lonely, left out in the cold. I long for the caw of crows in the treetops, a snap of a doe in the brush, a squirrel barking on a high branch to claim his turf. But nothing stirs. Nature’s no fool, I think. Not like man out here. But, then again, I reckon man’s the only creature to bury his own.” — Michael Lockett
It feels lonely, left out in the cold. I
long for the caw of crows in the treetops, a snap of a doe in the brush, a
squirrel barking on a high branch to claim his turf. But nothing stirs. Nature’s
no fool, I think. Not like man out here. But, then again, I reckon man’s the only creature to bury his own.