Sparks

The last Autumn festivals have passed, and Winter festivals are fast approaching.  I am clinging to Autumn, personally.  There are still plenty of crisp brown and red leaves, and those tiny yellow birch leaves that seem to fall in slow motion, and the skies are wild and wide and grey.

I almost can't bear for this season to pass, it feels as though it is carrying Talia's babyhood away with the gold.  November is often a good month for me, a slow steady passing into the home-and-hearth part of the cycle of my years.  The graceful letting go is eluding me a little right now though.