Good day you wonderfully adaptive creatures you!!!!! I do hope this chilly day is welcoming you and the world is being a harbour for you to claim a adventure from. Even now in this day of modern age, we always have a chance to journey bryond the harbour.

With all the time we spend in the harbour listening to the tales of others gives greif, for we are all seeking our own adventure but get stuck listening to others that they never set off on the sea of uncertainty. They just find the comfort of others stories goot enought to live thorugh. A sad life and yet it is the life of many.

Its not hard to step onto the deck of that ship that leads into the unknown, that the world is just fine the way it is. You tale is not to be written down and taken to the minds of the many. With tales and trials of the ones who have taken that ship become fewer and fewer the tales have become repetitive rehashing of the old so they sound new.

Never beset the mind with with tales of of the yesteryear, not to delve into the past of yesterdays and their lies of of the unknown. For the false tales of those lies are what would satiate the feeble minded and they give a repeated art of defication of truth. Though they have devoured the truth many times. It has ben digested and returned so many times they are no longer speakers of the valorent but tellers of a dogs tail.

To step on that boat of forlorn tales and the majestic forbidden yonder of the ones who call it a jest to try and find. Take their words as we taken the seriousness of a resting pebble. Tales and lies of isles they have never seen, balckend tales of twisting skies it not the but the twisting of four times the soul in life times of lies and decipt. They are not tellers of the once was as they never saw it before. Let not the lies of a dog they tell and not let the fowling of truth be your crutch.

Take that step, bask in the rocking seas, get lost with the map being but the clouds upon the twilight skies. Yonder is not a close thing, for it is far and most men who have seeked her have never been seen her. She is not a destination nor is she a sandy beach in some long lost land of enchantment. She is the tales and the writings of the sea, she is the gathering flocks of birds without name, it is a passing fish with the colors of rainbows laid upon their scales. Printed on the nights sky is the love of a mans heart, stars layed to rest on the horizon are his lovers. One more then last but never in the arms of the man for his true love is unreachable. It is in the constilations, in the glowling lines of long lived rock burning in the skies that give mind its wonder.

Basking in the light of no one, taking the wild and becoming atuned to its desires,

that is what a man of nations seeks. Power nor lust, not skin or pearls, all is a vaccume of degradation, we seek the truth of dirt and clay, the devinity of stone and tree, the trail of none and the dreams of others our only friend. For we are makers, takers, evolutionalries. We are the ones who took the step onto the ship and never looked back at baren minds and hearts.

Muvh Love

Your Friendly Ginger From The Woods.