A tip of the hat is for passerbys on the boulevards of civilized society......i prefer a telling glance, forever renewed by change of course and the redirection of dreams by the truths of Life..... as maddening as this way of life can be...

Sometimes. i am Shelly's Prometheus, drifting into the endless enigma of this temporal jungle; yet, in a second, and for one, i see the all that is and nothing more.....i have my near-sighted eyes wide open and my ears tuned to the timbre of voice, listening to the lark's calling and the titmouse in the berry bush...... the great, voracious birds circle, eying my stumbling, and still i tip-toe across the Styx on stones left by those who went before........instructions, floating on the wind, blow 'bout the world of dreaming and i awaken where i was before the world changed.....i've lost the sextant and must travel by intuition.........i've heard tell of a golden compass......... the magic stones, lost in the pool of an ancient waterfall..... the maps hidden in an uncharted desert........of gods in the clouds, on mountains and far away.........but, i was told in a dream from who knows where......that all we need to know is embedded within the helix changed with countless mix..........today, the sunlight draws the crocus and hyacinth into the cool air, then the cactus blooms of summer, the musty autumn and then the frozen realms beyond, from which the breath of tomorrow emerges.......