Fables have their own time island entertainments or fragments of embodied life refractions light and dark recoverings of race and memory passionate elusive by-blows of a richer being.

[…]he left the bearing of the arms of England, as the libards and fleur de lises quarterly, and bare the arms of this saint Edward, that is a cross patent, gold and goules, with four white martinets in the field:[…]In the church of Boulogne was a traverse set up for the French king, open on every side, saving it was siled with blue velvet, embroidered with fleur de lises gold; the pillars were hanged with the same work.

The entranced spectator was cut off from reality as long as the adventure lasted; it was as if he lived a dream yet believed he was awake.

For me, personal contact with nature is the essence of my Wiccanness.