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It is 0645. Sunrise. Not a hint of a breeze. The grass path is wet from last night’s rain. Or morning dew. Both. In the distance, Limpkins call from opposite ends of the wetlands. Overhead, a pair of Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks whisper about their breakfast  plans. Sandhill Cranes trumpet loudly from an adjacent pasture where they spent the night. Morning has begun in the marsh as it does every day. The difference today… Read More