Day 233: The tide is running high in the Siberian Sea. Its waves wash along my south fence line, spilling into the neighbouring yard. It is a narrow channel, perhaps 24" at its widest, yet it surges with colour for a few brief weeks in the spring. Soon, its storm-whipped swells will be but a memory, and nothing will remain but a placid green passage, ebbing and flowing under the breezes of summer.
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