Always visions of other lands haunt my ravaged mind and the ghosts of
old lovers swirl in the fog of my brain. Habits and routine are my
captors, the jailers that speak to me of bounds, fences and walls, yet
my soul flies on the wild wind, searching for a home. I long to burn
across new terrain like a meteor crashing through the dull and nebulous
layers of this tired earths' atmosphere. When shall I walk among the
foothills of the Old Gods and feel new breezes blow through this
shattered mind? To set the senses reeling and lose myself in the
swirling fog of new emotion.
Everything is growing, bursting out of itself like an explosion and
creatures mass and swarm at some silent command. Is this the hand of God
stirring his pot of wonders?
And then the storms and the wild winds, the constant rains although
warm- still crazy and without reason. All of nature here spinning and
weaving, screaming in the minds of men. Here is the torrent, the onrush
of life, the lesson to be learned, easily given and so readily taken up
by poets and dreamers. Wild living, careless exaggeration, wonders of
creation, the Psalms of the fields and forests.
Listen then, listen to the songs and hear their frantic message, for
there is a force greater than any man can know that is flowing faster
than an avalanche. Eye and limb, branch and spore- nature has gone mad
and man is afraid because the spirits of old lives are whistling in the
wind.
