in the meadow where wild winds flow...ancient stones rise from the earth below...cold, heat, rain, and snow...they stand...balanced one on the other...trembling...under the joker’s mask hanging in the cloud filled sky...crows take flight...some stay nearby...rabbits share the ground...hidden in the grass...a crow stands over a black squirrel’s body...the aggregate stands through the night and day...a beacon of hope in the pale moonlight and daylight sun...crows circle around...their cries fill the air...a somber scene...yet there’s beauty there...in the stillness of the dawn...life and death entwine...nature’s dance...a story in every sign...from the ancient stones to the crows on high...a tale of the wild...beneath the joker’s eye...the wind sings of the stones and the tales they will tell...of the wild and free....where the spirits dwell...a land where the ancient stones still rise...under the joker’s mask and the crows’ that cry...