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Great Grampa Bone shattering gravel on a dusty trail through ancient Oaks. We finally arrived at the ragged,aging homestead appearing on a still wave of amber earth. Relief from a trek over miles and miles of long winding country roads. An old barn of sunbleached boards leaned in welcome. In a parlor cluttered with dry dusty books a heavy silence echoed the metallic ticking of a hand-carved grandfather clock. Great grampa sat in faded olive-green coveralls, rocking in solemn repitition. He sat and rocked for hours staring at nothing as if immersed in a perpetual moving picture show of a time long past |
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