Dearest Martha

I hope this missive finds you in excellent health. I hope you find yourself frolicking for no other reason than mere curiosity and the brief joy that comes with its satiety before the next barrage of whys assails your brow. It is a strange satisfaction, the wanting to know, and often it seems the true joy is to be found in the seeking, competing and playing all the parts that you can and waiting with the patience of one who delights in the falling leaves for the universe to respond.

The leaves are falling now.

Life is strange Martha. It is a force that cannot be ignored. You can put the gun down, you can let it be, you can be the last man so far away from the town and you can be free. To go to the woods is to be a part of a grand history of man, he who has taken to the trees. That is what it means to be free Martha. To climb the branches to the highest seat and yet still descend with humility.

I know there is so much you could say to me. You have said, "there is only what you will" and I have wondered and cowered in the ignorance of the part, perhaps I do not yet know how to play it. I am apart now Martha. I can weigh so much and still I know it is not enough. The scales of one can only weigh one, the rest is as it is, only as one can be.

I have taken to the trees. I want to know what life is.