1st November, 2018 Thursday
Dream Kite veered close enough for me to grab a vignette and not much more. I am watching someone eat fried eggs. That is it. That’s all.
Tea was green and morning dark wrapped me in the Fall cocoon of dim my DNA just thrives on. My kitchen window frames those luminescent leaves which in a day or two will lie upon the ground and fly away crumbling and fading. A pile of them over the next season will yield amazing soil.
Today has been a bit fraught with high tensile energy in the ether of all of us who share this space. As I type, I watch the sky hosting the cloud river funneling the storm which is to shed a torrent on us tomorrow. A storm is definitely brewing.
A friend is healing. Tales need telling and I cannot be the ears that hear the early tales that have been secreted away for a lifetime of solitary woes. So many carry this catastrophic load from early childhood and depending when you birthed you might have had less hope around you. We are better at watching for the signs in the children growing among us. We can pull them out these days from the thing that preys on them if we can see them. Some still slip through cracks and grow with pain no mortal should expect to bear alone. Drugs and Alcohol are self destructs easily found that ease the waking pain. How many of us have found that path and walked away before it took us? And how many of us are still at risk that it can take us down that cliff?
The scarred and ragged oak which stands against the wind all by itself out my window is turning to the gold and yellow tinge it must to shed this year’s fronds which grab the sun to feed its ancient roots. She will be here in the winter, naked wiry tendrils stringing in the sky as it showers snow and rain until those tendrils and the tips bud to grab the sun again. I am a creature who needs the extreme of seasons who are cold, dead grey and then cycle to the blossom of the summer to wane again to store the gold to source the buds again. Our Flock of Five and Thanksgiving and Christmas peck and molt and shelter at her roots. I love her ragged wind bent form.
Dark has come again. So will dawn. The weather says its raining grey and cold for a while. But the sun will come again.
Ta.
Tea With Me 