Sunday, September 19, 2004
the opera singer sang upon the cliff, high on the ridge, above the yellow green in which I was hidden. And down below, below her and below me, the water rustled with the autumn.
i brought myself down, down to the level of the river, and so i might catch a glimpse of this voice, singing on the ridge. past the water rustling by i noticed the two others, and they floated in their space, away from the current, and they seemed to listen too.
she sang and we all listened. it was sweet and beautiful to see, that not only can we take away, but that also we can give.
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