You have found your way to my land, these woods of winter. Where the nights are longer than the day, and day is but a passing breath. The trees are silent but for a small chill breeze, and none too far away, a single mountain rises to the sky.
This is where I'll run. Where my life is written in snow. I will not say that it will all make sense, or that the trails this wolf runs are wise. But you are welcome to run this way awhile.
- Here is where my ART resides, for my mind is not a barren place. There is vivid life, among all the slumber. Here will be where my dance and song are recalled: on the leaves of an old willow. Where the tales twist through and around each other like living things...
- On the wings of an old black bird, a fortune was brought to me. He cackled his secret, "Go, North to the Future! Where the sun barely sets and the moon always rises. Things await for you, that you have never dreampt about!" Funny, how true that was...
- Here is the personal trail tred. This is where I came from, where the tracks in old snow lead. Here I will sit and speak about what makes me who I am.
- Here is a place where my friends leave their mark, where you can trace their songs back to their homes. If you wish to see those I hang around with, or those I find to be people to admire; listen to the howls...
© Kathryn M.G. 2002
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