What will be our intentions in navigating the glitz and gleam? How do we make these our reminder and not become a huffing, puffing slave? What does all giving point to?

I took a half piece of peppered bacon wrapped in my pocket to the standing tall, three hemlock’s just off of West Grand. I imagine a city lot and do hope these, who have seen so long and much will not only be hewn down as those elephant variety just across the road were a couple of years ago, though I know it is likely.

The bacon was a present for the owl who showed herself to me yesterday. I did not have access to a mouse offering as I briefly remembered in the tale of Squirrel Nutkin, he losing his tail after harassing and teasing old Brown while his brothers and sisters revered and respected. Either way, walking in the rain, breathing in the north coast, brackish air and leaving my gift for the holies spread carefully out on a moss covered rock, grounded and lifted all in one.

I want to be softer, quieter, reverently full-of-Love during this fall into Solstice, which I count on my calendar is only thirty-four days away (I just learned how much can happen in a countdown). To get clear, even if it means simply staring into candle flames, or touching red wet leaves. To not so much focus on what the school bus types want to round me up for and more what I’d like to birth as a future, which at this age is no longer about specific goals related to jobs or my love life, but has more to do with a state of being. I think I will garner better results directing my spirit loosely, patterned by nature around and within external ridges, the squares of calendar, draw swirls inside boxes to accomplish both what this world asks and the eternal curl of fern fronds too.