The sunlight sparkled with silver and golden streams filtering down upon the wild, unbridled forest sunken under our elevation, lighting the jade overgrowth of leafy trees whilst they eclipsed the existing life below. A gentle wind blew and stirred a cascade of miniscule undulations upon the forest ceiling and in our still, blanketed moment I could smell the familiar scents of my childhood, those untouched nurseries of plants and wild climates of my homeland. From this distant, earthly paradise, unlocked a jailed memory that assaulted me with visions of the girl with the wild, cherry-wood mane and the stoic, calm, gray eyes. With these thoughts, my heart lurched at the prospect of hopefulness, momentarily appeasing the sorrow of my loss. Lanary came to stand by our side as he relayed his favored quotation in a calm authoritative demeanor. ‘‘Conas ata tus. Lads, religion is about creation and for that reason religion should be about the earth.’’ I recognized the author as Lanary’s often quoted, Laurie Cabot.
