For the sake of being transparent yet grand, where has the ideal risen, and has youth thus longed for it? Where is the place that the bird, soaking into the lingering paradise of spring days, tries to grasp?
Even when the way seems lost, not all is without direction. Here lie other paths—softly lit, quietly calling— each with its own story, its own horizon. Wander a while. You may find more than you sought.
