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Quickly and with brilliant swiftness, it passes, sometimes with grace and others in cruelty. It moves at its own pace and does not wait for us. Often quiet in its progress, it yields to no one who attempts to stall its march.

Life is marked by its passage, through celebration, sadness and seasons. It is watched and worried over, caring little for the attention it receives. Dancing to its own complicated rhythm, in step with music that is hard to hear.

Full of sentimental longings of happiness and youth, full of anticipation for future adventures, its meaning shifts and changes like the stunning beauty of a sunset before darkness falls, sometimes on a starless night and others to the glory of a harvest moon, depending entirely on how we choose to honor it.

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