The scent of you, leads me back to childhood's country, where the word is first spoken and written. Every day I open my heart and collect new magical tales to tell. I love to come home to this country again, where everything is possible, and I bow myself before the forest glade and its wide open door. In the world I breathe, I love it when all changes caress me with kindness, and this forest is disrobing from her green dress for winter sleep's quivering, garments of Light. A large hood hides behind this mossy stone, and these leaves hide small feet. Forest stories follow every step I take. I hear his voice... he is my friend. Nature is animated, sometimes glittering, and I sit with all these memories in the world of words.
A magical thing happens when fingers encounter toes. My bound, hard hand opens up and becomes soft when caressing the grief born of sickness. Then my brushy forest and body's vast landscape lay open. The beauty is dazzling when fingers touch pain; my cool, thin breath kisses salty tears as everything beomes quiet. All emotions disappear like dust in the wind. It takes gentle hands to thaw a frozen heart. Sleep and wakefulness allow us unlimited travel in time and place, and our innermost being is inspired, spreading itself out through the world. /Ingela