The lilacs on the piano hum their redolent nocturnes floating up the hallway, into my room, coming to rest on my eyelids, and hushing all the clocks in the house. Another bouquet lingered briefly at dusk, like my shifting thoughts of today and yesterday, while I imagined shadows on white porticos turning orange, then pink, then indigo. Silence and aromas each stir up their own gentle maelstroms of memory, awakening intangible giants visible only to ourselves.

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