To sunder the times have come, born with great malaise and dishonor, Monday was born. To the travesty of life and limb, to the horror of the burnt, the sullen has become the aware. For a burnt wire has become the bane of my existence. The fridge has had a bad day and burnt the wire that goes into the female plug from the wall. This meaning the burnt wire is not one of hardship to get too, nor is it a wire that should be hard to replace. A dignity known to me is that I am not a fool, But a fool with wire strippers.

So the day seems like it might be a bit of a challenge but nothing to cray cray. With the rain coming in and the world scented with rain and autumn bring forth a divine hope inside. Not one that is chosen or devolved, but one that is refreshing and acknowledging the end of a harvest season and the forewarning of the colder months ahead. Scents that tickle the mind with warning of the deep winter to come, sensations of goosed skin is a great refresher of the mind to know the world is coming to rest. Turning more and more, we must prepare for the nights of ice.

The falling leaves sing songs of death and decay, not somber but in the rule of many. Life is not forever, life is not going to be gifted longer to you, life is a gathering of seasons, each one with a lesson and a hope of growth and desire. To us many times we only ever have 80 seasons to come to terms with the reality of what we are, to accept the decree of life is to die, to have 80 seasons is not many, far less if converted to dollars it is but a pair of grocery bags. So to stay humble as is the terms of life, it is to be aware that the seasons are not just turns and angular rotations. They are the visual reminders we are not forever, we are not endless, we are the brown leaves falling to the ground at the seasons end. Fall with grace beautiful ones. For your fall is the time we have left to fly with the wind, and not rot with the waste.

Much Love

Your Friendly Ginger From The Woods.