It was late

It was late. A cold night. The wind swept through the town and I felt like a wanderer. I forced my way through the chilly thick air in haste. I knew this was dead man’s alley. As I passed the threshold my stress heightened. To my side I could see the park shrouded in darkness. Damp, cold, fearful. In my hands I carried beams. Two torches with which to bring the light. And there before me a rogue of the field.

green lightning

Bounty is endless. But fury taints the horizon. Seek the grey hare. It will guide you to the whispering swan. For the swan swims in the stream toward the sky. And it is clear.

Sever the feather when you touch it. Do not abandon the woods. For they are your home and your bizaare. An Aladdin's cave. At four of the clock the joker will knock. So be ready with your flinty gaze.