In that studio the rage of years grew into great vines that stretched into the unseen sunshine beyond the walls. It was as if it were ripped out of us as bloody and stretched guts, but in that struggle to help others, in the determination to be so vulnerable, it became a chaotic and wonderful life-form of its own that reached out in magic healing, the red strands turning green.
The wooden floor was a chorus of browns; they sung together, a capella of baritone hues that rose up into vibrant soprano notes. It was a fitting place for their new studio, a place for those new sounds to soak right in and join the spirit that was already there.
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