I am sure you will find England once more and leave America behind with its ballistic mind we may rediscover gentlemen and genteel ladies of grace & sit by a brook, as the ripples kiss the stones beneath and a wind flowing to and fro leaving crystal air in the still of a night .
The wonders above still a mystery, a winged saint in the form of the snowy owl, weaving in woodland lightning speed through the shed portholes, with a wise soul inside finishing the journey of peace and grace. Where a touch of a hand and kind words could be heard, a land where we once knew of one another. Mason Cult.