Our Whispering Teachers
They peel off from the passing West Wind, now fragments of the gust, now zephyrs easing through the cracks in my doors and windows. Wafting in single-file down my hallway, they lay their warm fingers on my slumbered mind, words small and perfectly formed with sentence laid upon sentence in exquisite order. I covert my deeply sleep but the first layer of story, the first sentence, gently asks for…
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