A Fauns’ Delicacy
My own path is like a faun that plays between the wild forests and the labyrinth. Not in sorrow, nor in joy, but in rhythm. The faun can always hear the sweet melodies in the distance that run deeper than through the sensual ear. Yet, this faun has not forsaken the dirt and the leaves, and the smell of the rain has not deserted them. I am not lost as I have been told. I am never too far and astray. My place lies between the earth and sidereal, starry Heavens, where I can lift a little under the rock and the petals, a portion of the sun and a portion of the moon. I can run my fingers along the currents, sensing the subtleties of things. Mines (my path) is not a philosophy pursuant of supreme transcendence. It is foreplay; of being on the cusp. It is a delicate state of being. Once dithering between the wildfields and the vast prairie, I find myself yet here at peace, and this peace I have gained is balance and restores me when I need filling. It is solace. It is delightful gluttony, subsisting on the great fig.