Under the hanging green moss and the green-yellow light of the perpetual dusk they live. No need, no desire to travel. The stars they can see. The reasons for going they can or do not. Those wishing to visit simply come to them, their world. Just instants to simply jump light-years or further. There and then it becomes clear what travel could mean. Engulfing stillness within a silently roaring forest and conversations which reach further back and far forward in time within an expanding depth. Lost, with the realization of the mountain home. The tree, the forest, one voice and then many, many more... and wayward firefly's going on home.
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