HERMIT of the wet places, who keepeth the one life set apart from the many. He appeareth as a moss-laden tree alone in a clearing of the rainforest, his crooked limbs hung with hanging gardens, every frond and lichen burning soft and pale while the shaded deep behind him holds to darkness; ferns gather at his feet like petitioners, and the far canopy stands white as steam. His office is to be the figure that the rain hath dressed, once outlined in shadow and outlined now in warmth; he gathereth the water that falleth without ceasing and turneth it to robe and beard and crown. He teacheth that the solitary thing is never bare, for what clings to him is also alive. Where all else is drowned, he is clothed; where all else is grey, he glows; the rain that buries the wood is the same rain that makes him.
The words above arrive with your print, pressed onto fine-art card.
