The encapsulating power of silence is a beckoning wonder of the universe, as we abandon our awareness and travail toward psychedelic oblivion.
Although Neolithic tendencies have shaped our foreign fields of hybrid plantations at the expense of organic exuberance, it is wise that we listen to the concerts at dawn and dusk as they echo from the depths of the woodlands.
In our unwitting state of being, owls often grace us with their ghostly presence.
This sullen atmosphere is so damp with the juices of forgotten dreams, and we are not yet shrouded by the mysteries of such treacherous slumbers and defensive immobilisations.
Look at the patterns upon the rock of the Badlands where geological delicacies are too difficult to masticate.