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![Yay, it's the Owl Line from the good ol' days when the Web was new. Whoo-hoo!](../images4/owlline.gif)
It's a lovely, starry night here in the Glade.
Several wanderers have already taken their seats on the logs circling the fire. Join them, and let the Silence fill you for a moment. The night air shimmers with the sounds of frogs and crickets. From the darkness beyond the fire's glow, a cool breeze combs its fingers through your hair, makes the flames crackle a little higher.
Someone's marshamallow catches fire!
Laughter ripples the leaves overhead and the marshmallow's owner blows it out and eats it anyway.![](../images4/poetryfire.gif)
Now, across the fire from you, someone shuffles his feet, clears his throat, and stands up to recite a poem. His companions punctuate his reading by snapping their fingers; some listeners even drum softly on bongos. From somewhere behind you in the trees, an owl adds a comment of her own.