She wasn’t the only muse or angel or whatever, but when I walked the garden, she was the one who most often grabbed my attention. Trouble was, once she had it, she went quiet. Only by looking past her—listening past her, to the patter of rain or the sparrow calling—only then could I hear her. Humming or whispering a passage from her book or winging gently, anxious to lead me away, she did. Just need to play it cool…
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