After the fires of the final night come the morning good-bye tears. Everyone in camp meets on the playing field at the top of the hill, stands in a large circle which ends up folding in on itself as each person hugs the next in line. It can sometimes take over 2 hours. But it is magic. This poem doesn't make any sense without that context, but if you've ever been in a hug circle at Wenonah, it doesn't need any explanation.
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