The way that Son’s scalp smelled the first six months of his life.
The way that the The Bramble Bush works with me whenever I rub chalk on my hands, grab the sword, and step into the circle.
The way that the Glass Beads line up for me when I drop my own pretense and give myself over to the Game.
The way that the quince blossoms appear above the thorns beside that triangle of pine trees.
The way that I will never betray my own sovereignty