September 9, 2015

Watching the little deaths, green supple loss into raging red. I feel the crunch in my fingers, the decomposed, used up energy that transitions and blends into earth. I enjoy the sound, the curling up and around until the trees knarl themselves into a deep sleep. This season breaks me open and allows reflection, prospection, ideas flowing and catching up. Time is slipping by and reminding me in sapphires hanging heavy on trees, ripe to rotten apples in the leaves. These stories whisper as I stretch myself out on the earth and listen to the lessons that bubble and absorb into my bare bones. Mustard yellow, ochre red, charismatic orange reflected into my skin and rippling out over the liquid years, spreading out those imbedded fears. Of crunching, cracking, disintegrating and loosening my laces. It seems so natural to drift on down, piles of crumbled lying on the ground.