The roundhouse broods under murky skies, contrasting the ground in smoky hues,
I know I missed the stars last night, but the spice is still holding effect and I figured I should not wander far.
I stayed inside today, and now I sit by the hearth tending the flames, like they were to be taken care off.
No, they take care of me.
Inside my mind is mulling like wine and herbs, fermenting in the yeast of the valley of the primordial mountains.
I am estranged, unknown even with myself for the time being. Sitting in the dull light, and absorbing the silence through my skin, it is medicinal.
I bliss with the solitude, I pine with the solitude. Morbid and Enlightening
:Like an monition of a dream:
The one dream that goes in a circle. A Monk’s rest.
Here I am. I wonder how to move through it, and with it.
Ancient collective fears have their voice when I listen.
I must find Her. I must find Me.