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July 8, 2015
It's the feature of it that makes it special, when limbs go limp, when energy drains from trying, when the body reclines from itself as an engine of purpose, of drive, of ambition, when the eyes settle into their own jelly, where images of self reside in the concave momentum of no regret, where harmony is distilled by calm, by settling elements normally boiling, flung into the fray for gestating creation for creations' sake as the gist of living's need, then might restitution come softly, when night may parade off the day's bluster, where the moon may whisper its secrets.