|me:||who is that|
|me:||what are you talking about|
|me:||I don't know what that is|
All her life she had believed in something more, in the mystery that shape-shifted at the edge of her senses. It was the flutter of moth wings on glass and the promise of river nymphs in the dappled creek beds. It was the smell of oak trees on the summer evening she fell in love, and the way the dawn threw itself across the cow pond and turned the water to light.
"Hagrid’s Home for Magical Creatures" by Anna-Maria Jung