*_" Act with wisdom, but act; all things has right to grow and a purpose to find; even if the purpose is to have no purpose other than to go where it all ends; so let there be an end, but just because something ends doesn't mean it will die - rebirth is at hand for those willing make decay an extent of life. "_*
Tales from the Oak is proving to be a great DS musician. I picked up a physical copy of Toad King and I'll be keeping an eye out for a physical release of this one too. Also, thanks for another great album put on the channel, Dungeon Synth Archives. I've found so many new artists because of this channel and it's really expanded my horizons for this genre.
I love both releases and paid for them on Bandcamp. They're quite relaxing and put me in a trance to calm my brain no matter how I'm feeling. I even put A Dangerous Knowledge as my ringtone 😂
My mission this winter is to venture into hills where my mother's property has a young introduced pine forest close by and just walk for a while looking at the mushrooms and our strange creatures about untill I find a nice clearing inbetween them and sit on a wet log and just let the light rain between the passing branches fall upon me as the music plays.
Cool Reminds of this All year the flax-dam festered in the heart Of the townland; green and heavy headed Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods. Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun. Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell. There were dragonflies, spotted butterflies, But best of all was the warm thick slobber Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied Specks to range on window sills at home, On shelves at school, and wait and watch until The fattening dots burst, into nimble Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how The daddy frog was called a bullfrog And how he croaked and how the mammy frog Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too For they were yellow in the sun and brown In rain. Then one hot day when fields were rank With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges To a coarse croaking that I had not heard Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus. Right down the dam gross bellied frogs were cocked On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped: The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting. I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it. Seamus Heaney, "Death of a Naturalist" www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57040/death-of-a-naturalist
