There is a girl who sleeps under flowers in a field that sees all the lights of stars. The flowers of this field are the homes of many bees, especially those who like quiet time for their personal thoughts. Each lady bee visits each flower each day, finding sweet pollen to eat and carry back to the hive, where the young bees live and the children of bees are made strong by queens laying eggs and mothers who feed them with honey and dance and song.

Tiny crystals of sweet sugar, these flying bees shower in the powder of the flowers. They fly from ecstatic red to red to orange to yellow to blue, tending to their flower garden, listening to birdsongs, dusting every open bloom with the fairy dust that transforms blushing roses into erotic aromas and falling petals that literally litter the field with wind blown colors.

The eyes of the ancient stones look up from the treasure of the soil each night, remembering the long songs of the past. The very long song of the ancient stones has sung this world of ours into existence. The very long song of the ancient stones began at the very beginning of everything that ever was, ringing first as a light vibration in an infinite sea of spacious time, a very very first ripple of the tiniest thought wave of God expanding forevermore into every outward surface of a pulsing spherical particles in the simple repeating sound of the ever amplifying resonant drumbeat released from the center of this primary source to the unending journey of freedom found only on the newest edge of the omniverse

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