The autumnul equinox exerts her limitless power upon my every blood cell, ebb tide, high tide, and again, ever stronger. My heart sings sinking spirals of senescence, turns colors bright with transformation. The moon grows large in anticipation of harvest. My fleshless skull streams long yellow flames of directionless desire about 30 feet out behind me every time I ride downhill, feeling springlike when I let my thoughts lose track of time. Have you ever taken a nap in the afternoon, woken up at sunset thinking dawn had broken, and then realized your inner clock was off by 12 hours? It's like that - wolf smells spring sometimes and fall other times in this chameleon climate, times for love and times for death, transposed. My life, my love, where dwell they now, deep in some October countryside?
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