The Old Ways pertain
to what's been sorted and stored, while the mind
is the wealth of this treasure is beyond
description. It is doubtful that they could ever be reproduced
in all detail. The creative loops in our brain are tuned to these
whispers of the past, envisioning realities "stranger than we could ever imagine."
am I to myself
that must be remembered
and insisted upon
tree is a gargoyle's visage. The
Green Man, I think, has never left. Wrinkled
bark and leafy head, "the
living face of
the whole earth." Looking for a cathedral, I found him
emerging from the drizzle. Should he spew wine,
I would not flinch but laugh, Bacchus again!
but an ill wind!