Many moons, many thoughts

when you can feel the wind

in your bones,

the season of dying things

comes blowing in.

the ground is scattered 

with pinecones and pitch;

leaves turn to fire 

and then just let go.

bluejays pad their nests,

squirrels scavenge for acorns and pine nuts.

there’s a cacophony of crows 

crowing overhead;

this is their season to be sure.

when you can feel the wind

in your bones,

the season of death comes blowing in.

and still, the rains return.

cedar boughs come down

and offer themselves to our fires.

the plant world is shedding.

the animal world is gathering.

all of us here,

alive,

and reckoning

with what it means 

to be mortal.

I raise my cup and bid you all

Calan Gaeaf 🏴

Happy Spirt day

Blessings 💜💜💜