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The serene garden cradles an Antediluvian

No rest for old veins. Like he could want it anymore.

A boy rushes through bushels toppling some berries to the ground.

 

“Now tell me? I'm all done.”

 

“You need a straw and maybe a few more feisty ones; string the fruit to them, you hellion.” he scolds benignly.

“And then I’ll show you more magic!”

 

Off he goes.

 

The dreams are a warning. They taunt with crooked hooks for hands. Staring.

 

“Come back, succumb, and yield.” He remembers when it was mandatory.

 

It does not make the berry-necklaces less sweet through trembling hands.

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Done. I challenge with "A New Strain of Calligraphy".

 

For those who like beginnings. For those who must start somewhere. Beginnings of the beginning