I have never felt so at home anywhere, as I do in the glade...ah alas I know that now it is naught but an empty forgotten space within the silent halls of the guild, but it has a peace that seems so instinctively connected to every fibre of my being. Each breath of wind that teases across my skin, each silken caress of light, be it star, moon or sun...seems only made all the brighter, deeper, tangible, and yet more surreal, for falling in that small haven. Every sweet odour reminds me of a time long gone, when all I saw were smiles, and all I felt was love. Each surface I touch, from the velvet brush of the close cropped grass, to the warm and slightly rough face of the stone, whose very surface seems to beat with the throb of time passed.

There are marcs that I pass, simply marvelled by the dapple of light that deigns to sprinkle down through the foliage, the way it plays across the multitude of greens and yellows in spring, the flourish of colour that assails the glade in summer, auburn and deep rust in fall and the stark glisten of white come winter, no less beautiful for all its lack of colour. It is rare that anyone disturbs me there, only the birds can reach the confines of its secluded space. And so perhaps I have come, in my many days of slumber, tucked within that glade, to have shared myself wholly with ...with it all...so that now I feel as if that patch of earth and rock, plant and beast, know me better than anyone ever has, or anyone ever will.

Perhaps I am, and ever was..nothing more than a dreamer, and as such, have left my thoughts, hopes, and wishes to reside there. Perhaps it is only I that is as sentimental over the most simple of things as soil and stone. I think I like it that way, better to be a dreamer of something, than an advocate of nothing