Come with me down a long steep path past craning bleeding hearts and ethereal fairy bells, past the fritillary meadow rue and pungent prehistoric skunk cabbage underneath a canopy of lemon scented fir and drippy cedar to the banks of the ancient river. There we will make our elixir, our rich aromatic perfume of the land. There we will bring the copper still and light the beacon fire. There we will pull in the deep cool waters of the quick stream and watch it flow deep into the alembic. A few of us will bring back the treasures of the land, like pollinating bees, gathering the forest into our hands. We will think carefully, pruning from a recently felled conifer here, gathering a sprig, a sliver there, careful not to disturb the delicate balance, the intricate dance of biota.