The Wistful Witness
The first thing I want you to know, before the silence swallows the rest of my confession, is that the lark was not a bird, not in the way that feathers and hollow bones and the frantic beating of a tiny heart define a creature of the sky, for it was a thing of stone and old, dry wind, a monstrosity of geological patience that had been worn smooth by the hands of those who loved it into a shape...
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