Pierre Yardin

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Mmidday saw the father and son sitting on a sunny park bench. The wind gently caressed the young man’s sandy hair while his father watched in admiration. “What a beautiful day,” remarked the father.

“I suppose it is,” replied the son.

A silence followed as the young man evaluated his father’s comment. The weather certainly was fine, much better than it had been recently. There was no trace of the storms of late but instead, tiny spots of white littered the horizon like mild little lambs. The weather was fine indeed.

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