I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
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Jeff Walt has worked as a bill collector, a pizza-delivery guy, a cowboy at Walt Disney World, and an English instructor. His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Runes, Clackamas Literary Review, and the Comstock Review, and he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize three years in a row. He lives in Tacoma, Washington.