A 31 year old lad, constantly seeking life's great mysteries, constantly walking to soothe his soul and constantly painting to release the outpourings of his heart. Is that me? Or is that the perception of all that I do. I have forgotten the great unfolding of enchanted tales, the quick unravelling of answered plots, I have forgotten the questions that seldom have answers and the preliminary deeds which soak momentarily the voice of reason before they burst forth into action. I have forgotten the anticipation of being in love, or the raw emancipation of unhindered spirits into the physical realm of passion and lust. I am now accustomed to a subtle peace, that clings ever so lightly to the fringes of my soul, and gently lays it's presence so softly that sometimes I tend to forget it being there. I am on a path unknown, seeking the friendship of solemn trees that stand strong and furtive as I glide along, notwithstanding the wisdom they possess to arouse within me to stay awhile and converse with them lest I forget the very roots from where I came from.