here we are, in the depths of winter.
all bitching aside, I like it here. the inner life and time of sanctuary, dreaming, deep thinking, remembering, interpreting realities and other symbolic acts of existence.
the snow adds a touch of elegance in the northern latitudes.
I remember a dream from six years ago now--I was a crow, perched in the bare branches of a winter tree, aiming for my destination hundreds of miles away, straight through the forests. it is, it seems, a destination I still need to understand.
I resist, but only for the need to preserve the sacredness of journey.
I am still here, and you are still you.
always in grey scale hues.
all bitching aside, I like it here. the inner life and time of sanctuary, dreaming, deep thinking, remembering, interpreting realities and other symbolic acts of existence.
the snow adds a touch of elegance in the northern latitudes.
I remember a dream from six years ago now--I was a crow, perched in the bare branches of a winter tree, aiming for my destination hundreds of miles away, straight through the forests. it is, it seems, a destination I still need to understand.
I resist, but only for the need to preserve the sacredness of journey.
I am still here, and you are still you.
always in grey scale hues.
