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Choices at hand

August 8, 2012

When she was young, she ate blueberries with her fingers, sorting them carefully before they reached her mouth. It was easier that way to find the withered ones, and the prickly stems, easier to feel the water-balloon puffiness of the big ones gone past ripe.

Now, there was too much pressure to use forks and spoons, to hurry through the bowl of fruit, rather than taking things one at a time. It had become harder to find the perfect berry, so much harder to separate the choices at hand.

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