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Suddenly out of the north came the sound I had been waiting for, a soft, melodious gabbling that swelled and died and increased in volume until all other sounds were engulfed by its clamor. Far in the blue I saw them, a long skein of dots undulating like a floating ribbon pulled toward the south by an invisible cord tied to the point of its V. Sigurd Olson

First, let me say, I couldn’t give a damn

The correct way to name them. Words

Spoken a thousand times, woven together

With emotion, standing with lifted arms

Underneath a flock of forty mighty wings.

Have you ever been so close, you could hear

The swish-swush of the air and feel its tremor?

The words they speak between them,

Their flight calls, their gabbling back and forth,

I swear, it’s all about second chances:

Those with cancer, might live,

Those with sins, might be forgiven,

Those who lost lovers, might be loved

Again, in the way of not letting go,

In the way of never letting

Even one,

Fall away.

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