[ Jared Robertson ]  
[ S P I R I T ]
     “It was the start of the Summer of the Late Rose. Mossflower country shimmered gently in a peaceful haze, bathing delicately at each dew-laden dawn, blossoming through high sunny noontides, languishing in each crimson-tinted twilight that heralded the soft darkness of June nights.”
— Brian Jacques, Redwall


[ Old Tales ]

Moon and stars, shining bright,
A comet’s tail lights up the night.
Faithful friends ’round a fire below,
Spinning tales while embers glow.

Summer sunset, eastern sea,
Come, my friend and talk with me.
Tell your story, I’ll tell mine,
Together we can travel through time.

Orange, yellow, purple, red,
Daylight to the west has fled.
Take my hand and then w’ll fly,
Through the nighttime starlit sky.

Where you and I have been before,
To places never touched by war.
In dappled glens and fields of gold,
We tell of heroes from times of old.

[ Opaque ]


Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time.

[ S P I R I T ]