How does the world know?

The first time he saw her, it was like the day when as a little boy he’d been violently thrown off his horse. He remembered the feeling; one moment he was atop high and than the next, he was face first on the hard ground with the breath knocked out of him. He recalled the violence of it, the unexpectedness of it – that’s how he felt now, when he first saw her. A thunderbolt had smote him hard and now the world took on a new aspect. The trees were greener. The summer more golden and seemed to promise more. The birds sang more gracefully piping their tunes through their little lungs, the sky seemed more expansive and the stars appeared to shine more brilliantly; as though they knew the secret of his heart.

How does the world know the secret in your heart? He wondered to himself

How is it that the world can look into your heart and than paint the world in the colours it sees? How is it that the very melody in his heart he can now hear in the weaving of the trees? He could hear the orchestra getting louder – the piano at first and than the violins rising to a crescendo, all mirrored in the song of twilight and moon. How are such things possible he wondered?

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