A Village

We were here before we started being here amid the stilts and shuttlecocks and celadon. How mild real bravery feels once seated in our psyches. Mildew melts away from thought. The thought of ivory nests beside a lone wild integer that's meant to settle nerves. Abductive reasoning is all the rage, given uncertainty that might delight the wandering mind. Formalities be damned, say the curious who cringe when presented with a glaucous sky. Our baseline, once our bromide, levels constancy where causal feelings wrap. 

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