My campsite near sundown, deep in the enchanted Old Wood. In such places, one can forget oneself and everything one believes and come to know what is on a truer, primal level. Here is where life is real–where shadows whisper secrets beneath the boughs of sleeping trees, where hidden brooks chuckle with little land spirits, and where Brother Bear and Deer pass with silent abandon. In such places faerie tales are born and have their being, and who knows what one might find if the eyes and heart are clear.
In the Truth of the Old Wood