A mystic tree did block the path on which I trudged along, not felled but newly rooted with its leaves full green, alive with song. At once it looked familiar but again a foreign silhouette; I knew the names of branches but the leaves themselves, we’d never met. To the tree I introduced myself as one who needs must navigate the dissolution harmonies that frightened men disseminate. The tree then laughed and stepped aside and bent its boughs in salutation. And thence the mystic seed was planted: the fruitlessness of navigation.
All of your undefinable works of majestic godliness.
ex: "The Grizzly Grandma's Boy"