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West Mill Brook, Adirondacks, NY. The brook came down from somewhere before here, gathering strength as it came. I was the only person around, and I stood on it's banks to claim it's waters as my own. It ran to me clear with purpose, golden with hope. It will meet more water, and more, and more after that, because all streams attract one another, endlessly, on a course to the sea. Like branches on an arterial tree, eventually ours would collide. Was it mine running to yours, or yours to mine? It doesn't matter. Reaching me, I found a river of deceit, whirlpools of confusion, depths of hurt. I couldn't defeat the darkness. Come upstream, and take the light from the water, here.
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