I come around when the action dies, when a moment stands as still as a deadened lake, when the resident owls coo in ominous approval, when the white skirts settle into their stone circle atop the hill, when the songs have broken amidst cries of mourning, when the hearts of many dawn beneath a glowing moon, when the dead come to pardon the living, when the forked road merges into one, when the 14,000-foot mountains rise to the challenge, when the sky grows dark and fills with exploding stars.

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