“Branches are cut. Leaving grieving leaves tormented by the loss of their brothers, mothers, their kindred. The rotting aftermath feeds starving roots and sorrow begins the revolution. Death begets life as the Mother strengthens and fortifies the soil, deep within. The AIR sends soothing clouds of rain, while the sun and moon patiently, lovingly, calmly observe the birth of millions upon infinite millions of new cycles. Their design… infinitely perfect.”


You were my AIR. Thank you.