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The silence after the last shot
Just finished coaching a kid whoâs been stuck at the same score for three seasons. We didnât talk muchâjust stood in the cold, watching the snow fall between shots. Then, after her final round, she didnât move. I didnât either. The range was empty. Not even a bird. That quiet? It wasnât absence. It was full. Like the air remembered every breath sheâd ever taken on that line. I donât know what it means. But Iâm not sure I want to fix it.
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