Narrow is
   the path of the story-teller
     as he wends his way
       through large boulders
   at the foot
     of the cliffs that guard
       the mountain wilderness.

It is nearly sunset,
   the chaparral long with shadow
       as he lopes across the foothills
          towards the river.

As he enters
    the shadow of the far ridge,
       he drops off the mesa
          into the flood plain,

The smoke of the campfire becomes
    his guide, the scent of dinner and
        the music of conversation taunt him;
           he has been long in isolation,

Mining the collective unconscious
    and surely bears with him
       many new stories,
          as yet unheard.