The song begun by the flute rose overhead, became part of the air, and then part of someone else's breath.
The mountains never looked so warm, resting in the sun all stretched and eloquent. A slight breeze riffled the leaves of the pines and oak, creating harmonies high and low. Shadows and light played across the meadow, dipping into the small lakes, and soon everything was beholden to one or the other. Three hawks circled on thermals, two of them a mated pair and resenting the third until it sailed away. The day seemed to linger, a longing glance at summer, and the late-season flowers fairly danced beneath butterflies. A woodpecker hammered intermittently, a lone loud sound bookshelved by silence.
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In the thick of it …
Some like to teach so that someone will be taught.
Some like to teach so that someone will know who the teacher is.
Some like to teach so no one knows they are learning.
Some like to dance as if everyone was watching.
Some like to dance as if no one is watching.
Some like to dance and let no one watch.
Some like to sing for everyone to hear.
Some like to sing to let everyone join in.
Some like to sing when no one is listening.
Some like to create mysteries to confound those who don't like them.
Some like to create mysteries to intrigue those who like to solve them.
Some like to create mysteries so mysterious no one knows they're there.
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