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When I was very young, my parents would visit an elderly friend named Felix who lived all by himself. We usually arrived around twilight, the house and barn silhouetted against a luminous sky. Most of the time we would see a window in the barn outlined in warm light and hear the clank of milking pails being lifted as Felix carried them to the house. I remember an eastern phoebe pair nesting in an attached building, and a row of pails of varying sizes lined up on a high shelf. Upon seeing a similar arrangement in a stable close to home, I was prompted to bring my memory to life.
