Somewhere, lost in the clouded annals of history, lies a place that few have seen — a mysterious place called the Unknown, where long forgotten stories are revealed to those who travel through the wood.
— Over the Garden Wall (2014) by Patrick McHale
Come wayward souls, who wander through the darkness. There is a light for the lost and the meek. Sorrow and fear are easily forgotten, when you submit to the soil of the earth. Grow, tiny seed, you are gone to the tree. Rise, till your leaves fill the sky, until your sighs fill the air in the night. Lift your mighty limbs, and give praise to the fire.
Can we please stop pretending we’re gonna get home? Can we admit we’re lost for good? That this fog is deeper than we can ever understand… That we are but wayward leaves scattered to the air by an indifferent wind… Can we just admit we’re never gonna get back home, Greg?
