The steep tiled roof had grown dark and mossy with age and rain. The triangular wooden frames fitted into the gables were intricately carved, the light that slanted through them and fell in patterns on the floor was full of secrets. Wolves. Flowers. Iguanas. Changing shape as the sun moved through the sky. Dying punctually at Dusk.

Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world.

Not all giving is kindness 
Some are happiness taken from you

There are things to confess that enrich the world, and things that need not be said.

Written By Joni Mitchell

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