My leetle Pagan,
May I come up? I see you on the terrace in the sunshine and in the
moonlight with arms outstretched to the heavens, worshiping the
elements. But you who worship nature, you give to the world yourself
the perfume of the rose, the sunshine playing among the leaves, the
song of the wild bird of the woods. I can imagine you dancing in the
forest to the strange notes of Pan. Nature is just, but often
ruthless. I pray civilization may not bring you ruin.