Blood

I OFTEN remember those children singing in a schoolyard near a lake. The morning was crisp. I had heard the song before, sung in many other places, and yet at moments like this it still thrills me, perhaps because this place near the Tamblingan lake was quiet, at the edge of the woods, shaded by dense, thick trees, like a secret. Or maybe because here in this hideaway, I could reflect.

The melody is simple and the words are no great poetry.

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