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September 11, 2010
The sun had slid down the sky just enough to give the calf-high grasses their own shadows. They crowded around the bushes with their dark green leaves and thorny branches, and whispered excitedly.

"There she is. There she is!"

"Shhh," the older plants cautioned. "Don't scare her off."

Every life is silent now, focused on the crunch, crunch, crunch of her shoes marching across the sand. Her hands are outstretched at her sides as if exploring the energy with her fingertips. She grins, drunk off the attention, and dances a few steps.

Prodigies, I'm told, become addicts and alone.