I seem to come most alive when everything else is dying.

“Day to Day pours forth speech…” and I am windswept, said I.  Swept on Love like gliding leaves on ethereal gales of Spirit breath.  “Where are they going, Lord?” said I.

My eyes can scarcely hold this great canvas of Autumn.

Where in this season death blazes

image image

burning amber, rust, crimson, blood, and currant. I smell and taste colors…nutty maple absconds upward from the blazing death under my feet, still wet with a layer of left over night.

leaves of gold dip and sway on spheres of light cascading through arms of elms and oaks standing unashamed in their appointed nakedness.

“They’re going to feed the earth in its rest” said He.

“I speak and they turn…

They turn and they die…

I breathe and they fall…

They fall and they feed…

preparing the earth for new birth.



And so it is with those I’ve called, they radiate Me most in dying to self, and going where I appoint them….

low, in service to something greater than themselves…

and when they fall…

on their knees….and pour out their hearts before me, fallow ground in stony souls is made rich in fertility of truth and hope.”

“I am windswept on my way to death, said I.”




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