In Many Traditions, The World Was Sung

What Is Wild Cannot Be Bought Or Sold, Borrowed Or Copied. It Is. Unmistakeable, Unforgettable, Unshamable, Elemental As Earth And Ice, Water, Fire And Air, A Quintessence, Pure Spirit, Resolving Into No Constituents. Don't Waste Your Wildness: It Is Precious And Necessary.

All Humans Are Essentially Wild Creatures And Hate Confinement. We Need What Is Wild, And We Thrill To It, Our Wildness Bubbling Over With An Anarchic Joie De Vivre. We Glint When The Wild Light Shines. The More Suffocatingly Enclosed We Are - Tamed By Television, Controlled By Mortgages And Bureaucracy - The Louder Our Wild Genes Scream In Aggression, Anger And Depression.

Human Language Is Lit With Animal Life: We Play Cats-cradle Or Have Hare-brained Ideas; We Speak Of Badgering, Or Outfoxing Someone; To Squirrel Something Away And To Ferret It Out.

Time Is Found In The Calibration Of The Individual To The Timing Of A Collective Endeavour, The Social Grace That Less Clock-bound Societies Must Practise.

As A Writer You Have A Duty To Be A Messenger.