”“So it’s not much of a joke, is it?”“I guess not. In summer the lake was a dense mass of greenery, of hogweed and bramble and dead nettle mostly, but other things too, poppies and foxgloves, plants that didn’t grow much anywhere else. “That’s about right. ”“It was pretty neat, actually.
“My worst scenario is a year. They come flapping up out of the lake, just as we saw, heading for the winter pole. “Then, maybe Florida. Cat Rambo, “Amid the Words of War,” Lightspeed, September.
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