The town where I live with my little family backs up to Angeles National Forest. There is a small canyon not far from our house, right at the forest’s edge, that I sometimes pass through on my morning walk. On one side is a row of houses; on the other is a craggy hillside full of shrubs and sharp stones. This morning, as I crested the hill going down to the canyon, I noticed a small group of people gathered, gazing, smiling softly at the hillside.
I knew what they were smiling at.
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