This poem kept circling in my mind all night, while I couldn't sleep. So I wrote it down. Now, I am sharing it here. There is something in it, rather wistful. Take it for what you will.
What the Mountain Sees
The swaying of the trees, a great ocean of needles
The swallow swooping and diving
The clouds scuttling
All the world spread out, and moving by,
a slow tide
Most of all, the Wind.
Constant companion, always sweeping clean
always bracing, always showing that time moves.
Even if the Mountain does not,
the Mountain can see
Here, at the "Plain Language Pagan" I wish to share The start of My Journey, in hopes that You will learn from my triumphs and Mistakes. I Am not here to Judge, or correct, but to share stories and the shape my of Path with you. I will try to help You, through my personal studies, to make sense of What it is to be a Pagan using as little Buzz words, Fantastic language, and Flowery rhetoric as possible, in hope that you to may come to understand what it is to be a Simple Pagan,
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