"you make me wanna make my home here!" what thoughtless spirit led to a compulsive confession like that? and what a shame, but i can not be considerate. through the branches and trees, over sticks and stones and golden roots among the wolves, raging along. it's the comfort of being free not to decide at all "i wanna be your second spring, dear." but is my fi rst yet over. am i high, low or lower? and as upright as a liar can be this is how honest i am. we will always be the vagrant. no rest, no plan, no constant. just one way to make this work, just one way through the woods.