8.14.18 Blue Spectral Storm

A place has shown itself, a sanctuary place in the woods, near stands of cohosh, fern, ghost pipe, and trillium. A little place to crawl into, through the wooden door, a little place to dream, listen, sit.

The open road is light, growing golden this path to devotion, clear air, blue skies, murmuring breezes, the open road beckons, a path to devotion expansive and broad, radiant and delightfully streaming.

There is another path, a darker one, swampy, wet, where the old man of the woods and rabbit meet with spider to concoct and devise, where fairies litter the ground with flittering mushroom magic, dense and deep behind the woods, the air is thick and rank in places, steamy, yet both paths lead to home.

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