The fog rises fast and dances swiftly through the glen. The long twisting forest perched on the hill awaiting scandalous men. Fires burn in the distance and children clasp their mitts. A threadbare woven quilt warms the deepest thoughts within. A dank dark chasm awaits thows that willingly perform wrongs. A bright engulfed meadow rises fast for those that light up someone else’s heart. A misticism practiced daily when all religions merge. Fairy tales and faith hold dear for those that have recently knelt. Someone elses fancy is usually best left alone. Defy they say, lest we destroy those that have paved the paths for glorious foray into the depths of the darkest hearts. A candlelight dances nimbly in a window across a field. There is no road that leads to this one singular light unless built by well travelled weary men.