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And words there were.  Glorious and silken letters pressed into each other with appropriate spaces for such dances as sentences can be when they feel moved to be within the party of a paragraph.  Gather enough gravity to form a gravitational well of swelling words into something that resembles thought tucked into a page, or two pages, or many pages.  And then you have something.  Maybe.

I will find out this year.  (Goal.) May the souls of unfelled forests tremble at the future.

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