If I were alone in a desert and feeling afraid,I would like a child with me.—Meister EckhartAcross the basin the blue of mountains, beyondthose waves still more. Not rollers and not clouds, they areanimals waking from sleep,catching a scent, trace of the child who, over seas,picks up a bone flute, draws breath, and like a light wind,a dawn wind, begins to play.
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