Morning dew on gossamer...it reminds me of a lovely story of the faerie wedding and the little mousewife.
On one of those pale golden mornings when the light is so clear that the hayfields blend into the dawn and obscure the idea of horizons entirely, the news traveled quickly.
By chirp and whirr, by wingwhisper and squeak it traveled. The creek tickled the stones with the news, the trees told the winds and the birds told everyone that would listen.
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