He was sleeping while I was singing.
Miſtletoe, by phyſicians, &c. called viſcus, grows to the height of about two feet. […] Pliny and moſt naturaliſts relate, that thruſhes being exceedingly fond of the berries of the miſtletoe; they ſwallow them, and caſt them out again on the branches of trees, where they uſe to perch; and by this means give occaſion to a new production of miſtletoe.
Everything happens for a reason. I don't think I would be alive if I did not have that hope.
If you're not at heart a typhlophile, you might be a bit short-sighted yourself.
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