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Kevin G Hare

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My Domain

I walk through a vibrant forest, its heat stale and unmoving. There is no wind to speak of on the forest floor but the branches rustle high above causing a golden glittering of light over my head and ballet of shadows around my feet.

I hear the sounds of the jungle; an orchestral accompaniment of birds, unseen animals of the dark and the whispering of the trees. They speak to me; they know of my presence here and acknowledge my sovereignty. I breathe and can recall the scents of moss, moist tree bark and decaying foliage that carpets the ground. I smell the hint of a long extinguished fire and the aroma of a history that once populated this place. I step quietly and glance at the architecture of an age no longer - ruins of a society familiar to me but distant enough to be out of reach. They were houses, these things, made of wood and stone, made of the earth without the mutilation of chemistry. I can sense those who were here. Dignified and magical but only fragmented personifications of a greater construct, unwhole members of a collective wrought in make-believe.

My pity is great for these people, having no will of their own while behind me the manifestations of the everyday shadow my efforts and delusions of freedom. I want to run, to escape into the fading thoughts of mysticism where I find comfort. My feet move but they are robbed of speed. I have the will to fly but I am held fast to the ground, unable to realize the simple choice that would lift me up.

Instead, they are there. The real. The known. The common. Those who endure to remind me of my duty and not my purpose. It will, at least, remain constant until I return. This forest is my realm, my domain where I do not try to rule or be ruled. I merely exist in effortless accompaniment with my surroundings. And I live.