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Just in time for Valentine's Day,
the Guardian in London has
reviewed and raved about
The Secret Language of Sleep.
And, for the rest of the week,
you can buy it for $5!
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Beyond January.BY JENNA CARDINALE
and a bit more about vegetables. But the color cannot always be green— Does a hero wear oversized mittens? Winter is a time for roots, a time to climb every available staircase. I approach the cold, the unending staircase— Burdened like bread by butter. Posed into a tree, I grow roots stronger than thick yellow vegetables & I'm stewed, warmed by woolen mittens and liquor that makes me green. Waiting to see the start of green is a chore, like a narrow staircase. There are moth-made holes in my mittens. I dream of daffodils and butter, but never of ripe vegetables. I feel the weather in my roots. There's something red in my roots, no matter my hopes for green. I swallow my melted vegetables, stare up at the staircase. My body has become butter— A hero, I wear broken mittens. I stitch up my mittens with yarn as coarse as roots. I'm breaking it off with butter, determined to start out green. Still, halfway up the staircase, I hide some uneaten vegetables beneath carpeting decorated with vegetables. Yesterday I lost my mittens, but I found them on the staircase. In inconsistency, I've found my roots and branches, now sprouting green. I think less and less of butter. A diet heavy with butter and vegetables makes me green, envious of the journey of mittens unraveling down the staircase, lost little roots.
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