Evening walk

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    “Want to wear my coat?” I ask Brenna. Blue hour has replaced golden hour and I can see she’s getting cold.

    “Okay.”

    “This was my dad’s coat,” I say as I wrap it around her small frame. I don’t think of that much anymore. It’s just a simple jacket I bought for him when he was last in Boise. But I think Brenna might like the connection.

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