She called it her favorite time of year. The birds flew in low overhead, headed south for the winter. She used to sit out in the McMahon cornfield and watch them go by, occasionally with her sketchpad or a camera on hand. I don't know what she did with all those drawings and photos, but I never saw them around.
When she left, I looked for them. I searched her room, her whole house, with her parents' permission, of course. They thought I was trying to figure out where she'd gone. I was just trying to keep a part of her with me.
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