When her muzzle grew more white than brown, the chipmunk forgot that she and the squirrel had had nothing to talk…

When her muzzle grew more white than brown, the chipmunk forgot that she and the squirrel had had nothing to talk about. She forgot the definition of “jazz” as well and came to think of it as every beautiful thing she had ever failed to appreciate: the taste of warm rain; the smell of a baby; the din of a swollen river, rushing past her tree and onward to infinity.

― David Sedaris, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary

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