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I remember an early winter day.
The wind blew cold across the Delaware.
The river's current arched against its banks,
sending spray flying over the levee,
sending water across the frozen ground,
splashing against your blue plastic slicker.
You almost fell before the gusts of wind.
I waited, expecting tears to fall.
You only spread your tiny feet apart,
planting small feet firmly on the brown grass.
You, who had always hated winter winds,
opened your small mouth in sudden wonder,
and laughed aloud as river spray came in.
