RELEASE THE SPOOKIES
With haggard breath and well worn claws, we dig through September, lurching to October.
The smells and wonders and haunts of sanctuary lurk just ahead. Just out of reach, moving ever closer. The illusions are slipping away, the mirages are fading, the torments are nearly over, and soon.
Soon. We will be home. And all will be right.
And all will be wicked, and wild, and wonderful.
Thirty-one days of healing, of strength, of cold energy. Just enough, just barely, to survive the coming year.
Welcome home, my love. My beautiful love.
Intuition is like that, sometimes. I think it marks people for us in just that way. Yes, hi, hello, this one will be important. Even if it’s just in passing. Finding out how it unfolds is the best part.
I hope that you don’t feel too embarrassed to talk to me. I’m not nearly as scary as I’d like to be, and surely I’d be honored to be your friend. If you don’t feel like coming off anon yet, that’s okay. :)
Morning Star- The Moon
by Karl Schweninger Jr
I love the spirits of these hawthorn trees. They are somewhat airy and joyful, yes, but rather secretive. You feel their bark under your hands and they almost seem to dance at your touch. The rustle of their leaves against one another holds laughter that’s just beyond your threshold of hearing. Their scent and shape make echoes in your mind that you can sense, but never define.
You see the dirty sheen of their berries and realize that they do dance, all the time, but it’s a movement that we are both too slow and too hasty to track. They speak, but you can translate no more than an impression. They keep gates that few will be able to recognize, and this, in itself, is more simple and powerful than I ever expected.
But still, they laugh.