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THE WILDS ARE CALLING YOU
I came to a meadow so beautiful as to take my breath for a moment.
The thought struck me that it was long knowing its own beauty, my presents matter not. Then I began to whistle the melody I just had made, each note seemed beyond my ability. pure in tone echoing back from a nonexistent surface never to be repeated.
Would the valley note the passing of my moment?, a tune in perfect pitch? Would I have existed if not been heard by the flowers that brought the joy, that brought the tune ? Staying till the stars came the night silent before the now unseen meadow the answer lilted into my being. Seen from the far side of the meadow I am party to its total.
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