A peace without knowing the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares and the howls of orphans passed from one generation to the next. Let it be light. Let it come like wildflowers, suddenly, because the field must have it; wildpeace. Yehuda Amichai
She is so innocent, naive, frail. There is something pristine about her and unspoiled. She is afraid to love. She is a forest, and a night of dark trees She tastes like pollen and stars and hinges, she tastes like fairytales, swan maiden at midnight.