Eyes closed in journey; following hearts’ cadence, which brings me to misty fields.
Greens alive with rolling hills obscure; fogged by animated cloud.
It is here I descend, like through clouds in heaven, before you.
I descend not a god, but as disciple; to learn and spread that which infects me.

All is veiled in a dozen shades of grey; all to recognize but piercing misty pines.

Rolling fog, like minds’ confusion, occasion blue-green sky; but ever present are the misty pines.
Whether to rejoice or oppress one cannot know, but to majesty possessed, I shall descend.