There is a time for everything.
I can’t quite explain how important this is to me. The wind and sun glowing through the long grass and the goldenrod. I am always trying to find home, or something I felt like I knew once. Always looking for a back porch, and now I’m wondering if I will ever get there.
There is this feeling when fall reveals itself that the season has been sitting there all along, like bones under flesh just waiting to be peeled back.
Fall days are sacred because you know that it’s going to change at any moment. One day you lose it all – it turns cold and it doesn’t come back until you’ve gone through the wormhole and come back out in another year. And yet you never quite know when that breaking point is until after you’ve crossed it. And even then, you can’t quite ever trace it back.