............ ‘Oh, that was the life of young gods in the forest,
............ and how could one think to live without it!’
.................... Conrad Richter, The Light in the Forest
Though summery warm, the wind blows through the pines with all the gravitas of late December; the wide river slips languorously west. With a continual shedding rain of yellow leaves, the forest is a bright nexus of glittering corridors: Mythos is never more than an inch away for those who would chase an afternoon through a patch of woodlands forever if they could, though a sadness bores through the loam of reverie because such undivided pleasures are nearly always found along paths one takes alone.
............ and how could one think to live without it!’
.................... Conrad Richter, The Light in the Forest
Though summery warm, the wind blows through the pines with all the gravitas of late December; the wide river slips languorously west. With a continual shedding rain of yellow leaves, the forest is a bright nexus of glittering corridors: Mythos is never more than an inch away for those who would chase an afternoon through a patch of woodlands forever if they could, though a sadness bores through the loam of reverie because such undivided pleasures are nearly always found along paths one takes alone.
Signed in a scrawl
of hickory smoke,
Achelous grants me
the deed to every river
I have ever known.
by Gary LeBel
Cumming, Georgia
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