I have survived the fiery kiln of summer baked and purified under life-giving Sun - that light so bright and strong I craved it all winter, yet somehow found it stifling and harsh during those strong summer days.
Now I find crisp cold mornings balanced by hot cider and warm evening blankets. Busy active days balanced by quiet stillness of night.
I am finding balance again at the equinox as I stand here on tip-toe at the precipice between life and death, equal day and night will find me -
between consciousness and dream.
Looking behind, I gather my harvest. Looking ahead, I gather my harvest. It all somehow feels simultaneously too small, and too BIG.
I take this hardened shape of my spirit purified in the fires of summer and I paint it all the gold and red and orange shades of fall. I glaze it with the cool rains of autumn. Dying leaves fall from trees, and old fears fall from my hair like dandruff;
I brush it all aside and prepare a bed for myself to welcome the coming dark nights of dreaming. I dig down deep into the sleeping clay of next year's creation.
W.J.M "Hestia's Muse" September 19, 2015