On a dried out, empty street of asphalt and past violence, a vine from ancient seed interrupts the piercing silence. As it slides up and splits the surface of the road, the scraping shoots out harmonies more complete with every note. And the broken pieces of the street get wrapped in viney hands and stacked beside the ocean in the shape of a brass band. Old people and young children laugh as sounds emerge. The lion and the lamb sleep soundly on the earth. Crickets and dung beetles spread a quilt out near the band who once were made of black stone and now move like free men.

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