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I have come to a decision. I shall wear my black silken shroud when I go fishing with Father this Sunday. Under the April sun, I will tell him of the lush field journey, of how my skin became crisp from wind and sea splash. I will speak of the million rainy days that have swept across my eyes. I will sing the praises of the ancient caverns where the sky fell in upon me. When all is said and done I will hang my head over the waters edge to see my sunken reflection. Then Father will light the torch that will guide us back to the Subaru with our bountiful catch.