From This Space

Like the green men of old, the shag of new leaves shelters my face.  Like them, I am not quite young, but I am quick.  I dance, I prance, I revel – the world has not yet been made that will keep me tethered.  I trip, I stumble – I come, laughingly, to rest.  Let my life fill you with joy – let your joy spill out into the thoughts and petty close mindedness of mankind.