Thank You

Earth, a Herkimer Diamond, internal prismatic imperfections tuning the frequency of bonds built beneath the weight of Time, Fey flashing iridescent reflective emanating planes and obelisk promontories. 

Air, a pheasant feather the colors of the path in Autumn beneath the trees, fluent, magnificent symbol of ardor and increase.

Fire, a white, wicked column of wax, consecrated for Vigil and Wishing and Vision.

Water. a Woman wrought from Earth, iron in the Blood, forged by Fire, Spirit shining, inspired by Air, Mind as encircling as the atmosphere, and her Soul the Holy Cup of Wonder, communion Grail, Source of all Love, perfect and pure. 

 Moonrise swings North between the great arms of the Old Cherry Tree from its Summerbed beyond the break in the hedgegrow.  now that the season allows for a view of the southwestward rolling hills, i have taken to sitting and watching the light sink and the dark rise from a white plastic rocking chair in the middle of nothing in particular.  there is no Other to keep a seat for, so i may settle unceremonious and strange without Second Thinking.  on clear, quiet nights i go out and implore the wheeling stars with my mind empty and my heart full.  

there will be Dancing, returning to your body, electron cloud chronicle of incarnate life, compelled to spin and beat and Breathe more deeply, brief reprieve.  there will be Curiosity, voracious vigil candle pilot light shining off the silver spurs that urge you forward across talus passes and wide, unfamiliar creeks, the wind roaring in the trees, Everything at once from Everywhere.  there will be Friction, holy blood transubstantiated, Seelie Cup of Wonder, its glitter and fizz infusing your fingers and soaking the tip of your nose, spilling out and seeking Portals. 

 cold begins to weave through the windows in the evening, and i wake to a high-country killing frost, bright against acres of deep grass in a morning that comes on now so slow.

This Years Theme Song(s)

the winter coat emerges, instantly comforting and familiar.  i inventory the pocket contents:  a large, dark stone with what appears to be an H etched into it, two buttons, one depicting an anchor, a pod of clear resin encasing the word Blessings, a wee flake of hay from last-years town-over christmas creche, a white quartz worry stone ive carried with me almost twenty years now, a lighter with the word LIGHTER written in punch tape along the side, a stone i found at the edge of the Ocean, an acorn, and seventy-two cents in change. 

i drank a bottle of champagne with a shrewd and beautiful woman at my favorite brasserie. vanilla savon and a dark, polished rose.  fell through the giggling wormhole of long-dead love fleetingly resuscitated, familiar and pontificate,its exhumed skeleton amid the sirens and against the streetlight, dancing up through inside jokes and shibboleths, marveling all the while at the tenacity of such invisible filaments.  found the good woodstove going at Sister Mothers house, and a perfect, tiny basket containing an inexhaustible amount of love.

bare branches and dead, pendant leaves hone the edge of the wind, molecularly compact density of air, that cold creekwater feeling foretelling, with its signature scent, the soon-approaching snow. 

the Dark tenders its tithe from Day and comes to collect more quickly as axial gears dance our northern antipode oblique to the elliptical, casting runeshadows on the shaggy rolling green over which cry the Crows and the other day a skyful of sound like the Earth cracked open releasing the sum total Cri de Coeur since Time began.  the Wild Geese follow the Great Magnet south toward renewed warmth and plenty.

you tell me, little by little, what it means to you and i will tell you, little by little, what it means to me.  by those stars shall our journey be charted.

theres a scarf to knit and a leaf to catch, and music.  i try to fill my quota for sleep and tea and laughter, for noticing the rose pink crushed velvet chaise on fire sunrise and the steady presence of the stars.  in my dream there were horses coming up from summer pastures, and the White Horse with the Red Forelock, whos name the Old Man asked me.

Love is the only thing i have to give.