curling

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Spring grows into summer, which stretches into autumn, which fades into winter, and blooms back into springtime again

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Spring grows into summer, which stretches into autumn, which fades into winter, and blooms back into springtime again. It's a never-ending wheel of beauty and color. It curls around on itself, spinning like Sunny did in the fields of yellow and green.

But she didn't spin and dance so much anymore.

Sunny liked to read, and she brought home stacks of books from the library.

She didn't talk as much, but she would tell me about the stories she read if I asked.

And I did ask. Often.

"Where are you today?" I pressed, sitting beside her.

She clutched a newly-started book in her hands. "I'm climbing the highest mountain, fighting off the scariest monsters, and saving the village."

"Wow."

She nodded.

"I guess that means you don't want to go run in the field today?"

Sunny paused, biting her lip. "Maybe after this chapter, okay, Finch?"

I nodded.

She would forget to stop at the next chapter, I knew.

I looked longingly out the window.

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