A big wind rises and so do I. I take the chime down from my balcony. It has four metal prongs and is tuned to ding an A note. I knock the chime as I reach for it from the high place where it hangs, sending the wooden weight between the prongs into a frenzy. A, A, A, A, A, A, A, A. I clasp the prongs, the metal stiff between my fingers like a grasshopper between a bird’s beak. Silence. A spell is broken.
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