|The shelf fungus makes a nice fairy stair,|
don't you think?
This makes sense on so many levels. No special equipment, no particular building. Just trees and birds and the air Outside.
I am especially at peace by myself. Perhaps I am a solitary? Alone as a tree in a midst of a forest. There is green around me, but I alone am Me.
The letter I wrote Saturday to a friend still sits by the television set. Do I place the stamp and take the risk she is no longer there? Do I send the note, and take the risk she is no longer the person I knew? Do I take that risk, and hope she understands?
I am slowly tearing myself apart. Emotionally.