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Light in a Bamboo Whisper

 The wind whispers in the bamboo and I think someone is calling me. Faintly, so faintly that I am not sure if it is my imagination. So I sit under the arching branches and listen, quietly, breathlessly even wondering who it might be. I am waiting to hear, you see. Waiting for an answer, waiting for a sign, and I think I might hear it in the bamboo. You never know these days where light might come in, and I think if I sit long enough, and still enough, I might hear it.
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