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The morning mist clung to Weed Mountain like a blanket, its tendrils weaving through the lush hemp fields that had become Shady Grove's pride and joy. George T Hawkins stood on his porch, sipping his morning coffee, marveling at how the mountain seemed to glow from within. It wasn't just his imagination - ever since that night of the celestial light show, things around Shady Grove had taken a turn for the decidedly strange.
"Mornin', George!" Jeb's voice carried up the path, breaking through George's reverie. "You seen what's happenin' down by Old Man Johnson's creek?"
George raised an eyebrow. "No, what now?"
Jeb bounded up the steps, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and bewilderment. "You gotta see it to believe it, cousin. The water's flowin' uphill!"
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