the end of this season is nearing.
a year of flush faced wonder.
of physical and spiritual mountain climbing.
of stripping away and down to the bone, to uncover the essential facts.
my mind offers up the familiar words i’ve often used to describe this past year, but i am reaching for more.
‘more’ is perhaps not possible to describe this kind of living.
this sussing out and stealing in.
the icy ground is verbal in its protest of my warm steps as i walk towards the placid liquid sky.
the night is what greeted me here the first time i called this place home.
the dark wall of sky pierced through with needling white-light stars.
but now, now it is the mauve maw of dawn.