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Here’s my one sentence, for yesterday.

Donning serious respirator mask after a Missoula smoke day of cooped up anxiety each leaf turning color and the lone kayaker launching beneath Bear Tracks Bridge are gifts of deepest grace.

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Responding in the dark of morning after a night of heavy rain, I'm grateful to have been on the road for the worst of what the Missoula air has been burdened with, though I did get a taste of it in Eastern Oregon.

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