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.....the sign read.... fresh poet-orchard soups ....then.... th'sentry riddled a code - x y x - this quest shunned all.... but the light orchard trees where-in x marked one spot not yet taken 'neath the leaves rained on and.... glittering as rainbowed concepts blossoming into a topography of ideas upon which.... light can decay to mark times transforming nature as the fodder of a stunning reality because.... it exists as an actual manifestation in the medium of the mind of an observer whose self is.... as the leaves that reflect and absorb the light 'x' marks concepts.... to be blossomed into ideas 'neath the trees of the poet-orchard th'sentry replied 'there be your log on which to wrest your writing as time transforms your concepts to ideas' stans sand

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