On the road to forestry there is one guard who breaks the rudeness rule.
Whens he crosses you on the walk he greets you in such a way that you feel bad not greeting him first.
If only all guards were as polite as him.
The cold wind and the green hue of leaves and the tintinabulation of crickets on a walk on a summer night is a balm for a walkers wounds.
Aspire for a deeper relationship with place.
The more time I spend alone in walks and in writing the better I will fulfill my sole purpose.