Taking a pause to reflect on the man in the forest. A man old and secure in his surroundings as he taps the well used pipe crafted to smoke what the winds and clouds provide.

The wafting smoke can be felt as the smoke has a heartbeat. The aroma of the pipe speaks of something called, love. Something the man felt for his world, a world free from the antics of wild ignorant beasts set to toiling and living in a world far removed from his.

Raising his eyes to free the mind from the songs given by the flowing creek as wild trout beat a rhythm along with the hatching nymphs setting permanent the final target.

Puffing deep and exhaling he sees her and she knows him. He and she as different as night and day and both closer than a mother and her child in the womb. Smiling, he spoke to a very tenacious young ladybug who was very full in appetite at the moment. A small and beautiful creature making the world a better place.

She. She is. She always will be. She talks to him constantly even when she is unaware and sleeping in a world were both collide. When she is awake she knows.He is with her forever as there was no other choice or path. This thought caused a chuckle as with attendance the audience of illusions applauded.

Lately the owls have held protest. It is their rights and their responsibility. The old man kept hold of smile and with his left hand, twisted his attitude to a tone subtle and low in resonance. Time of calm in preparation of a cyclone. Already the ground has given opinion. Tides has shown no slack. Even the sun, a sun filled with immense pride, tried its hand.

There will always be others. Those thinking of knowledge and fools. Using their minds as tools without and with the desire of control and ability. To the old man he grimaced at how chaotic such a device is even allowed to exist.

If proof of God even jaded those who try to find reason in any world of heaven or hell they have chosen to exist, it must be pointed out this door can be painted any color, any size, shape, and yet the hinges all are balance as what is, is and always will be just as he/she is.

(When writing in this language it is sometime hard to translate the vibrations and pictures alive, breeding, evolving and thank God, there is the wind.)

If anyone reads this other than eyes of mankind, maybe you too, can understand?

Inside me exists what can be called, Monster or in another way, Saint.

Outside exists the old man and woman he loves.

In between there is only the dreams and pictures.

Now, satisfied all was well in his world, the old man knocked the ashes from his pipe and again smiled as wild honey bees carried the remains away to be made into the finest honey.

Talking stride without doubt as to his age; Eternal Life.

Such a story exists.

Such a story is real.

Two know full well of this story.

And when the sun burns dim and wind calms to a mere whisper,

such a wonderful form of love with not only thrive and prosper…

and yes, you wanted talk and this is what it is.