You were the first one back,
the first one back.
You clung to a bare black branch,
your habit to choose Sundays in March,
wind whirling around you,
sky grey as a shroud, and wet,
to sing to the flowers, not there yet.
You were not loud.
No, not at all.
But you knew what you were doing.
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- Editor’s Note
Issue 43: Perfect pitch, big-wave surfing, and double DNA. /
- The Messy Secrets of Perfect Pitch
Inside the science of a skill revered in much of the music world. /
- Moving Mountains
Searching for beauty beyond the bigness of the wave. /
- My New Life as a Chimera
Living with two sets of DNA. /
- Wonder on the Web
Issue 43: Links to amazing stuff.
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