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When I was young, very young, there was this neighbor of ours, a kind woman who lived alone. She would sit on her porch every evening, and the other people in town, they wondered about her, why she never married or went to the social gatherings.

When I think back to those days on the farm, we were all so very, very busy with the daily work. The young ones nowadays, they don't know how it was, working from sunrise, and the community, well, they all helped each other in those times.

In those days gone by, there lived a wise old owl in the ancient oak tree, watching over the sleepy village below. Every evening, as the golden sun set, he would share stories with the children gathered beneath his branches.

When I was young, we had this neighbor, very, very kind woman. She would come over and help with the garden work, and her children played in our yard. But times were different then, and people worked harder in those days, helping each other more.

There's something magical about our evening markets, where the air fills with laughter and stories shared among friends. From the colorful displays of local crafts to the dancing shadows cast by lantern light, each moment creates memories that bind us together as one community.

And when I was young, very young, we had this neighbor who lived all alone in that old house. She worked in her garden every day, and people, they didn't understand why she kept to herself so much. But I knew there was a story there, a sad story.

You see, back when I was young, there was this family living next door, very, very different from the rest of us. The mother worked so hard, taking care of five children all by herself. People in town would talk, but she just kept going, doing what she had to do.

Sometimes, I look at my worn-out hands and remember the boy I used to be. You think you have all the time in the world, then suddenly you're eighty-one, wondering if that one turning point was a blessing or a mistake. It’s funny how life works that way.