The Sound of the Tree through the Forms of the Veil
Each drop of molten gold she brings into her mold glimmers in the light of the growing fire. At last she feels the power of the veil within her, if only she could truly enter through it before the fire fades. In the wilderness, through the nights and days, she has formed the elements within the babbling brooks and winds, herself the judge of good and bad. Here upon the hearth, she forms those memories anew in the fire's sparks and roars. Break through, oh Nature, to the inner source of creative powers! Nearer yet to the fire she draws, striving to free herself from that which holds her back.