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Non-fiction. The micro-world of the great outdoors, as found in the ordinary back yard. I showed Zach some of the photographs and told him what was out there. He would have preferred to remain blissfully ignorant. Now maybe he'll be more careful to wash his hands after coming in from outside. I'd like to write a sci-fi story someday about a race of people who communicate by odorous gases instead of speech like some plants and insects. Cursing could take the form of a particularly noxious wind...
