We call it "Nature"; only reluctantly admitting ourselves to be "Nature" too.
But for us the road unfurls itself, we don't stop walking, we know there is far to go.
Grief is a hole you walk around in the daytime and at night you fall into it.
In city, in suburb, in forest, no way to stretch out the arms - so if you would grow, go straight up or deep down.
There comes a time when only anger is love.
It is fatal to one's artistic life to talk about something that is in process.