The ache of October is as palpable as it ever was. But this year feels even more so, with change rolling through the early morning mist, a presence in the rustling scarlet and yellow leaves. I peer into the shadows as though I'm gazing into time, a river curving and bending backwards on itself, the past, present, future converging into one single spinning moment - but how can that be? I feel the blood pulsing in my veins; hear the jagged sound of my breathing. The wind stirs and lifts the mist and something in my chest rises too. I turn and head for home.
The quiet hum of the earth slowly turning... a skylark's song
Wings Over Waters 