December 6, 1998: Invitations of fear
A light fog lies next to the trees this new day—the very place where a breath of spirituality sings out to me. Somewhere within that meadow, sits a lonely man who’s waited several years to locate an open soul to help sing out all that his dreams are made of…

I still haven’t traveled into the trees—I get back there then stop. From where I write, the forest is great to play with. Down there…fantasy becomes reality. The fog is never there and I quickly become disappointed—losing all faith in the origin.