A stretch of small city road, gone country under a blanket of fallen leaves. A crunchy bicycle ride over said dead leaves. A look all around and see colors. In a cafe, inspired to say, i love you, to yours, as you hold them by woven, heavy cotton and wool, at the arms just above a pale palette of wrist.
Autumn Was...
What was this world where when autumn arrived…
How they harvested, by hand.
How they jammed the jam.
How they hunted the land.
Made wind chimes of bone.
Tapped trees for sugars.
Thanked the almighty.
Venison, quail, turkey and trout.
Facing the winter with faith and tobacco. Exposed to the elements.
Cooking the fats over a crackling fire, on irons they traded for pelts.
Chanting at sunset and dancing til dawn. Large fires contained within circles of rock.
Living a life ruled by
water wind fire earth!
sun ice and stars! and great sacred spaces
cast under moonlight
ruled by the rhythms as of yet undisturbed
And of wonders unknown.
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