less talk, quiet all those thoughts that come and crowd you out. I have seen things in the earth, in the shapes the leaves make when they fall, in the shaddows the clouds cast as they sweep away.
it bears writing down.
There were stags in the trees, born out of the oak, their antlers like branches. Not one but many, scores of ten, a hundred, shaddowy and not yet formed, but they were there none the less. Cernunous came like that, shrouded among his satyres, a terrifying scent of rough earth and musty need. He is the god of this land. Not the god they call on from their buildings of stone, this is the god that calls us all forth to dwell on his soil and has not cast us out of heaven. I have seen things I never thought possible. and now I know.
And when the stags bore down on the maiden there was a flowering and the owl became a swan, stretching out her wings into golden sunlight.
