There are melodies so delicate, so perfectly shaped, so moving, so sweet, that they seem to have always existed—hovering in a quiet, flickering wait—until someone with the right heart pulled them down from the ether, from the sky, from that mysterious nothingness —
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Roger Nichols and Our Small Circle of…
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There are melodies so delicate, so perfectly shaped, so moving, so sweet, that they seem to have always existed—hovering in a quiet, flickering wait—until someone with the right heart pulled them down from the ether, from the sky, from that mysterious nothingness —