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There were no bears, but she kept repeating "Blueberries...can...winter." Sadly, it wasn't peak blueberry season, so the yield was just under a pint. Not exactly pantry-worthy.
Maybe next summer in Maine?
"in a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning." f. scott fitzgerald...three in the morning is a good time for this metaphor to become literal.
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