[=#006400]
Yesterday morning, I did not plan to do much at the time; I planned to go and get some candles, as I heard that there was someone (alas, I cannot recall their romanized name, only their pictogram and their kindness) offering to summon up some new ones from the annals of history.
Time is never quite time here -- I blink, and the magic about me acts as if it were yesterday... Provided, as so often happens with candles, I remember to do so before yesterday becomes the day before yesterday. So, a stranger reaching even further back, with magic I lack... it is sometimes quite impressive indeed. I met the deer upon the rocks, and he cast them on me, where they sat, waiting for the shift in weather and in light to give them flame...
I'd have gone on my way, if I hadn't have noticed Sage awakening in the distance.

I rushed to meet her, and for a time we twirled about in the flowers where she meditates, light as butterflies, our laughter rising up like flower petals. There's a sort of meditation to motion; the mind lifts and empties in the delight of the body, and everything becomes a momentary snapshot, like an artist's reference of a walk-cycle, an artist's version of a cycle of feeling; frozen in a shutter-click portrait moment. And so it came that we were running over the hills, cycling around...
Until I called for a brief break to catch my breath. Once I'd regained it, I suggested that we do something I'd been putting off for a while: take a walk to see, in careful detail, the forest in the light...
Of planning another poetry scavanger hunt. So we walked, and I considered my options as the fall of the light through the canopy revealed this secret or that, this idea or another; was this odd bed of ferns too obscure? Was this structure or that too obvious? It is all appreciable, all-inspiring, or so it seemed as Sage and I picked our way through it.


We wandered to the ruins, where everything is special, singular, and distinct.