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If we listen to the nightingale we hear music on the wind, which arrives from the sea, which is guided by Selene; she has thus given birth to the beauty of song that all cultures love. But her birth of music manifests in different forms, always loved, but changing, dying, fusing with nature forever. She should be loved by all because of this,but often we are not aware of her influence. It is our hubris which clouds the source of our riddled lives and deafens us to Selene's song in nature.
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The old screen door pinged closed behind Emma, its hinges grating. She'd meant to oil those hinges years ago, but had never gotten around to it. Too late now. A small tear ran unchallenged down her cheek until it tickled her chin. She brushed it away in disgust. Sentimentality was fine, but there was no time for that now. Jeanette was waiting.
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