On being pagan [poem]

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On being pagan: 
I feel spiritual when
I step outside on an autumn evening,
just after word, and
I take in that first breath of
cold air that stings my lungs.
I look up and
see the purpled clouds and
reddened skies, and
I feel the beautiful cycle of
day to night to day
all at once. And then
I walk down the steps to the parking lot,
jumping in the car to
beat campus traffic on the way home.
Because life is spiritual,
always.

– poem by Larissa Lee
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