Now, I don’t know how to write about the spring without writing about the sickness. It’s a tricky and selfish thing.
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On one side, there’s a tumultuous danger that keeps me on my toes—but on the other there’s serenity, hypnotic sound and movement.
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Some of the first sounds we hear are our parents’ voices, our family’s songs, and even years later their music can carry us home.
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