I was taking a swim in my backyard pool when I was visited by the ghost of Maya Angelou.

I awkwardly stumbled over myself with sympathies about her recent death.

The ghost of Maya Angelou silenced me with a finger in the air and said, “When given a choice, the past is a shallow, stagnant pond I wouldn’t as much stick my toe in.”

The ghost of Maya Angelou leapt off the diving board, shouted, “Cowabunga!” and hit the water with a mighty, wave-shaking cannonball.

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