wizards and witches and all sorts of macabre entities that once heralded the earth as their home are sparking up their magic wands, this the summer's end, in the hopes of achieving a goal long forgotten the lay people. It is the threshold of the autumnal equinox in the next several weeks and I see the uneasy and agitated state of my peers.
My advice is to sleep and eat and drink and fill your physical hole with as much nourishment and joy in the coming days because the cold, frozen, dark day of the nether creatures is upon thee and there will be much arousing contempt for those who do not share in their revelries. This is my time kids. When the wind blows and a chill walks over your grave but you see the stone and the name is not your own and you feel free for one more day. The sky glows an ember lit hue and it gets darker faster as the cold bites in very window pane not sealed completely from the ghosts that pry their way in. Humble I am in these days. Wise beyond the understanding of men and older than the cypress groves. I watch children playing gayly and father's raking leaves as they fall knowing they will give up long before the Nordic gods bring their frozen wrath upon the ground in new fallen snow. These days are clean and smokey and delicious with the dry air carrying the smells from front doors and window sills alike. The smoke from a back yard burn and the still sweet charcoal aroma from the last of the barbecue kings and the clapping of the tongs while eagerly waiting on the fresh roast beast to be carved.
So much work is needed to ready for the wintry invasion when all good things must go to rest and let the balance begin as my kin and my blood roams with baited breath and veiled intentions to seek entertainment and notoriety. It is the season of the itch, not the other season you were thinking of, and my loins have been crying out for justice if even a little evil justice.
For me there is no day in the sun. There is no sunset that doesn't remind me of what I am and was born to be. I cannot even "become" anything any more than I can change a grain of salt to a speck of pepper. I just am and have come to the acceptance phase of this "being" and this sentence. I have out-lived most and out-loved many through my stay of deadstitution. Now I wallow in the knowledge and books and collect data on people and creatures and take note of all my duties in the long dayside while waiting for my "summer" to return. Soon I will appear in full regalia of womanhood and in the need of company of men (and women) and the fast hard beat of music and the pumping of sweaty beads down my face as I stare blankly into the sea of pulses wanting them all and needing everyone to fill my happy place. I am feral now and a starving beast and just waking up from a long hybernant season of a lonely cave sentence. Soon I will be grand and fun and macabre and coy and whorish and vile and mean and wanted. Soon I will be me...~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.
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