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Our ancestors mingle with our undreamed of children in the sky. Their breaths are the puff clouds you see on days with endless horizons; they appear like popcorn. On the ground, inside the earth, powders and droplets lie scattered in windswept piles - these are the materials from which they were made. The earth is a fabric of revolving circles. Heart elements forever shift and once more, when we have gone, crying newborns will be formed in the somnolent valleys. We wait to return to the sky without time. The breeze is a breath - we remember, but aren't remembering the past.