Autumn is inventing her own language, even as she tries to mimic mine.
When I repeat what she says back to her, she pauses and gazes at me with a scrutinizing crease in her brow: "But that's not what I said!"
Summer's End
7 years ago
There be many shapes of mystery, and many things God makes to be, past hope or fear, and the end men looked for cometh not, and a path is there where no one sought. so hath it fallen here. --Euripides
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