sitting here with my coffee. chewing on some hard little knobs that only two days ago were lemon poppyseed muffins, i contemplate the universe.

pointilism has given way to lush broad strokes of green and i am shrouded in stillnes. fragrant heady intoxicating nature. how could there be any other place, any other existance? why is it that when i acheive acceptance and a sense of belonging that life must shift brutally? i am the mistress of this place. these trees. the ancient people of this hill tell me from their whispering land that they are pleased i follow them.

and yet, locked in this tower i am cut off from the world. and every day that i let fold into another becomes a day where my chances of survival are diminished. out there. i could have been the apprentice. (hell, i should be the wizard by now)i could have but my path is to chose the path less travelled. my feelers send me empty messages. and i am a ghost. who sits at the computer. drifts through the garden. stares into the distance. sometimes appearing to the inhabitants of this place. usually distant.

and they grow.

and the petals fall.