December 15, 2001
Locating answers for chapters already written

I stand before my Gods… the wind, the sun, trees, and weeds… my heart filled with their love—I too would die protecting all that is called my land, and more. Man has never changed, only his weapons of choice. These are the marking of a dreamer—til the moment comes I’m called to die. Who will sit where fingers once painted? Who will write until the ink is gone? No sunrise is the same, therefore my answer is empty. Is it the land that which calls out to me, or is it I who calls out to the land to sing?