Tranquility and having a home to love, the resounding echo’s of thought and conclusions’ of manifested desires. Foundations of sapiens that have become a shadowy reminder that we not dwell in caves anymore, but lay in front of fire places and the couches that have memories of love, lust and desire. The fountain called a sink, the cloth covered in a scent obscure of means, bars of bacterial elimination and fainted cleanliness. Something new and yet the old have become immune to its desire to protect and has created a monster of divine elimination. Without man, god is a fringe concept, without these bars of cleanliness and the fountains in homes that we cleanse ourselves in. We would be but not to the fallen before us, the mighty and the yearlings. Fret the cost of cleanliness is closest to godliness. For we should never want the desires of mankind’s creations, godliness is not next to cleanliness, but to the stain of a door step who’s name called by a kingdom greater then belief, a kingdom of iron and brass.

To the day I find great joy in the values of time, up and about I have a fire to start and a house to clean but that is all in due time, foundations have to be set in stone and concrete to have value in what stands above it. The cold and the white indicators of frost and creeping ice becomes a mornings treatment. A movie of silent death and screaming joy, From hills of the young sliding down on plastic means, the packed snow becoming a icy means of fun. Speed and safety are brought together to form some of the greatest times that the cold death can provide without cost of limb or digit.

For the times past, a set of seconds and minutes before us, after us, and the endless rotations of a sphere that we are fathomed beyond the conceptual. We bask in the sightless space between our system of planetary devotions on a plain that is our home. A disk that has age before us that is incalculable in our feeble concepts of time and liberty. We cannot conceive a time that has yet to be born. A time beyond our current means but the means of many in the stars.

Let the cold and frozen ground be the ambitions to seek more, ice is a devourer of life but the preserve of biological ancestors that lay before us with a lost life that would be never be know to anyone but the ice that engulfs body and mind.

To the end of the page I must come and to reflect and continue on with the day and progress must not be stalled by the means of man-kinds weakness, but the things that make for life must be done and not forgotten.

Until later my lovelies

Much Love

Your Friendly Ginger From The Woods.