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Be Not Proud

. . . And so he circled. He circled while reaping the low-hanging fruit wherever he could, but his goal was that fruit which remained in the taller branches; the ones that (for now) were just out of his reach - as if any were ever truly beyond his outstretched arm. He would reap until there was nothing left but the trunk itself. It’s not that he was toying with the family. He did not do that, after all. Still, he had to admit he felt a certain pride in his work each time he watched those that remained after he struck yet another down.

“How long,” he wondered, “should I continue with the easy pickings until I fell the tree?”

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