A fitful wind is sweeping through Sanur this evening, scouring out the humid days of spring, ushering in the cooler months of summer. High clouds come along on its courses, higher than the dangling near full moon, twirling gently at the treetops like a silver lure. The earth leaps, gulps air, fills its lungs. There is no plague here, there is no illness, the earth has never felt so well. Enchantment lives. Even the ghosts of the land cease their moaning and come out to surf for a moment like kites. And forget.
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