Despite his distinctly lanky legs and imposing size, he gracefully maneuvers obstacles with intrepid reverence, as if he is pursuing a veiled but timeworn path. In patient pursuit, holding the tension as gently as a plucked daisy.
His gaze is steady, his countenance divulging his quiet joy. Like a suckling child to his mothers breast, he embraces isolation with a visible hunger.
He hears a still, small whisper beckoning him deeper into the quiet that rocks him to sleep, then back to life, an esoteric cycle of renewal.
He knows what many don’t, that silence is not empty, that detachment offers nourishment, that solitude is a gilded lily, that separateness is anything but separate, and that wilderness is contiguous to the contemporary dwelling of divinity.
-Nicole B Roberts
“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”