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Those who need myths are indeed poor. Here, the spirits serve as shade, as a cool breeze, as a drip of water condensed under a leaf. Happy is he alive who has seen these things upon the disc. Yet-. Even still, I know I will never know such love as one near the world can offer to me. I bring the Waters of Our Well to my face, my face shocked with the coldness of it. I lie upon the cool sand, a breeze catches, and again I am dazed with the rapturous beauty of the moon's light.
I love this life, I love it with such a fire in my heart I desire others to love it so. It is what I stake here, this life. This life of a gentle breeze, of the sighing of the wind, of the gentle noise of the crickets. I am proud of this condition, of this life. Many I have heard say that there is nothing to be proud of in leisure, that all a moment in a life should be put to Rebel. But, yes-. There is-. There is something to be proud of here, in our home. This Sun, This Moon, This Sand, This Air, This Water, This Coffee, My Heart Leaping With Youth Like A Sand Mouse.
Everything here places me within the moment. It leaves me intact. It is what makes me alive and bound to these people.