"Facing the traffic, and onslaught of a crowd is normal and a daily routine for people of this world. To exist within a flower, surrounded in a certain color and translucence, warm and fragrant. The rain in it's own lens of light changing in the wind. Walking in sound drafted by cracking surf and rainbows of winking sun beams as the flock of Sandhill cranes bank on the offshores lost in the mists. I turn now to my tent of yellow with my warm bed out of the weather and lean down to team with a blueberry, it's own nature supported in green. To the sand it shifts to the lee and sprays it's quartz in layers. A char moves in rhythm to the swells that lead to my port. It is song, the mode of it, it is where we ...belong."