The Hidden Stone
I shelter with trees below cold wet ground, what’s left above leafless, without color. Burrowing in soft earth, I find roots of peace woven to
February 23, 2025
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I shelter with trees below cold wet ground, what’s left above leafless, without color. Burrowing in soft earth, I find roots of peace woven to
Into the quiet dark I commit my messengers, the soul survivors of desperate folly. Send word to the wanderers; they must hear of the rising
Snow covered hills under winter’s blanket, where I wake in a foreign land with trees of ash and oak, bare branched like veins in the
Drunk on starlight I stumble in the temple, my voice loud in praise of Aldebaran and Sirius. I doubt I will ever be sober, the