[Translated from Druidic]
Journal 40 Entry 29
I find myself missing home. That one which found me, which, after all those years, I could finally call home. These caves… these caves carved so precisely by time, stone etched by water over and over, carry with them smells so familiar..oakmoss… ambers… musks…fecals and urines of so many precious species… Maybe I should return.
This female twolegs I travel with no doubt wishes it. I can’t help but think she would be much more beautiful should let her hair down wilder, shut up once and a while, and embrace the ever-changing state of her appearance, crafted by these caves. I appreciate her help, and understand how weaker men might desire a woman so fragile, so filled with contempt for the natural, but oh how that woman can protest too much. walking with her can sometimes try on my patience.
Earlier she mentioned how “simply detestable” it is to be fond of this caves and everything in it, what she calls filth, rot. (Strange how She often uses words like “simply,” followed by a more powerfully negative word, detestable, disgusting, deplorable, in every sentence she can fit them, as if trying to soften the revulsion inside her.) Has she ever once stuck her hand in rot? There is so much to be discovered there, heat and warmth most of all! Inside a heap of garbage is the organic miracle of a million tiny movements, a million tiny actions. There is WORK being done in the rot. There is change, adaptability, progress, transformation! She should be so lucky to be surrounded by the very thing that keeps her scrawny ankles pressing on, for if it were not for the composing and decomposing of all natural matters she would not be alive to treat it with such disrespect!
I… get ahead of myself. It has been a while since I’ve trekked with so many. There are so few who can appreciate how the nature of the world supersedes all that can be found in their world. Nature provides all. Protects all. Supersedes all. Any Twolegged imitation is exactly that, a crude facsimile.