His

was the way of words, poetry, romance, dream, and imagination. He occasionally dropped down from the clouds to visit, commune, and observe. His ways were reflective and conscious, more to do with possibilities than simple fact. He was more nightingale, skylark, or muse finally. He sang and spoke of beauty mainly and the long road from innocence to experience. He brought with him a music such that others opened themselves up to the possibilities and dreams he had always radiated and represented. Ultimately, though, he, not others, most knew himself, his nature, his meaning, and eccentricity. How can one describe a spirit or soul, certainly not one from far away and somewhere else, who transcended the particulars, people, and contexts that had tried to know, describe, or limit him? In freedom there is much that is pure essence and spirit, that can only be experienced, rarely communicated, and seldom understood or appreciated. His presence, his light then, ephemeral, but timeless beyond mere memory.