November

As the full moon rises from the depths of the river bed, leaving its remnant glow on the ambling current, November's silence drapes the landscape with the last vestiges of warm golden light. The downturn of autumn looms.

Fragrant earthy decay settles into slumbering comfort. Traces of amber senses from leaves past their prime litter the pathways and mask the green grasstips on abandoned fields.

Somber moods steeped in burgundy passion yawn contemplative lyrics of longing. The land has been threshed, mourning the passing of time. ....the passing of lifegrowth.

The season of rustic thoughts, shared by ancestral hauntings is upon us. May we have the courage to listen to their ripened echos caught in the boughs of the pine, captured in the cold gales of a storm, wrapped in the forgotten sheds where ancient dreams have been laid to rest.

November is here. Crawl under the blanket. New dreams need to find the sacred germination from stories told by the firelight. It's time to share.