This is the place I’ve been telling you about: where the mist settles and all the crickets and birds stop talking and even the grass is frozen still without a rattle in her bones. This is where the compass constantly spins which reminds us that time’s kryptonite is attempting to record it. Spirit highways are busy at work under our fallen bodies and we use his grandfather’s dowsing rod to commune with our lost loved ones. It’s state law to spend two days a month in nature alone. Here, introductions are called mind tasting and there are a lot of inside jokes about Bigfoot, (did you hear the one about the bunt cake?!) Where plants don’t have secrets, it’s not that kind of place, they give away their thoughts and feelings freely with ease. And love notes written on his dead body come back as heart shaped birthmarks on his new body. This is a very special place I found, meet me here.