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that is beautiful and it helped my cynicism ebb away.
gopika.

> “No one dared to attack the raven. But they cried
> there in some instinctive 
> common misery, the bereaved and the unbereaved. The
> glade filled with their 
> soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as
> though to point their wings 
> at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he
> had violated, that they 
> knew. He was a bird of death.
> 
> “And he, the murderer, the black bird at the at
> the heart of life, sat on 
> there glistening in the common light, formidable,
> unmoving, unperturbed, 
> untouchable.
> 
> “The sighing died. It was then I saw the judgment.
> It was the judgment of 
> life against death. I will never see it again so
> forcefully presented. I will 
> never hear it again in notes so tragically
> prolonged. For in the midst of 
> protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that
> clearing, the crystal note 
> of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the hush. And
> finally, after painful 
> fluttering, another took the song, and then another,
> the song passing from 
> one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though
> some evil thing were 
> being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took
> heart and sang from many 
> throats joyously together as birds are known to
> sing. They sang because life 
> is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the
> brooding shadow of the 
> raven. In simple truth they had forgotten the raven,
> for they were the 
> singers of life, and not of death” (1844).
> 
> Lee Fjordbotten


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"...he starts to walk again. He'd go a long way to see perfect stars."
                                          -Tobias Hill

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