Has solitude led your feet, into a clear evening of stars, where the moon in its alchemy, yields silver sowed fields. Verily, the world around appears changed, a heightened sense of elevated thought, where imagination finds delight. Yea, this seems the root of folk lore and myth, all good tales that cause the heart to leap and hair stand on end,  this whispering shadow from hawthorn hedge, bespeak a path my art tries find.

I saw there in, the path that turns not back, so thick beset with brier and gorse, a silhouette crouched in human form, an enchantment within the natural land. upon a time, happy chance I met, this weathered stubborn oak block, such deluded thought there in I read, so verily amused, by what the oak block said, I dragged him several miles home.