I am treading through woven mangling thorny bushes simultaneously regretting not taking the path to the shiny city at the fork in the road. Old scratches itch very bad and I know I will need lots of aloe. Why I risked on the path in shadow at noon? Why I risked before or various moments in yore? Suddenly, a break of light reach my eyes, and I energize. I enter a glade, bathing in light while imprison in arbor shadow, hair of flowers completely over the skin, mouths full of boiling hot mineral water from somewhere. I think to myself, I prefer this sight over that metropolis of light. I sit down, and open my basket for a beef baloney and brie on rye. A few gulps of milk and I hear a buzzing, but no bees. I go back to eating and the buzzing grows; I realize it is from the ground. A few flowers bend at my hand and a rolled scroll arrive on a car. I take the scroll, the buzzing goes away faster than it came, which is a map to the forest plus directions where to step to leave the glade. I gather my things and leave this home to part of the forest I don't know. At the thorny bushes, I ponder on the path I snubbed. I remember the quiet, worse than quiet, more a deafening silence, that made audible my inner mind, from the shiny city I chose not to go to.
