season lulie Lonely loon I hear a’wailing, Watch it fly to southern shores. Brightest stars Will lead to winter. New Year comes before the dawn. 021014 ... pilgrim Wobblie World Blissful yet Blue Constantly Changes Her Chromatic Hue Ceaslessly Cycling Summer to Fall Greens now Turn Golden Wild Geese do Call 021015 ... jinx peppered and salted and stewed and boiled Ask, and I'll do it. 030106 ... Soma After the long warmth of summer has gone and the rains start sweeping in, I feel the stirring of a storm within my belly. it comes every year, around that time. I count down the days, but never know quite when it will arrive. After all, forecasting storms is still not a sure thing. Inside me stirs the warning breeze, the waking cold that leaves my stomached knotted and some small part of me quaking. I feel it dance over me, then through me, as it brings with it the cold. The cold is a rain of darkness, of trepidation and fear and the utter knowledge that this is it. There is only here and now and never will there be more than this. I am paltry, small, and lost. I yearn to to fade beneath the wide water's ceaseless shores and feel the salty water in my lungs. The temptation is sings to me with all the warmth of the sun's caress. I am lured as sure as a sailor to a siren, but still half-sane. I lash myself to the mast. No, I am clinging to him as I confess. I confess. I confess. I don't want to die. Don't let me drown. I hear the call to the water and it's overwhelming and strong. I am drowning my thoughts of this in the whirlpool spiral of the cup of coffee I stir with a spoon. Every season the same storm. Will I one day free myself from the binds I make, and submit to the song? Will I find my vessel dashed upon the rocks and shattered? Or will I pass the storm and find I am spent, too weak to weather further waters. And so begins another season of darkness. Waiting for the season of light to return. 231025 what's it to you? who go blather from