Sunday, October 9, 2011
“I wake up, heart up my throat, a fear taste - getting ready for the changing skin.” Anne Marie Macari
The seasons eclipse and September’s damp foray crashes into autumn's crisp decay. Summer’s strangle hold on my muse unfurls one varying hue at a time. Almost overnight her green foliage gave up the ghost of a season and began dressing in shades of burgundy, gold, and burnished orange.
“In this everywhere of blunt and soft sinking, I am the heavy hollow snared.” Deborah Landau
An autumnal day where the musky summer warmth is wrestled in one last tussle to the earth and the road winds higher, lending autumn her due. Jaco Pastorius’s Opus Pocus serenades the warm scent of burnished leaves as they twist and turn in downward spirals and shades of rust grow deeper still. A woodland’s invite to the heart of the mountains sun dappled rapture.
Breathe deep. The writer begins to stir…
Summer’s opulence peels back to skin and bare bones grafted with a season’s worth of words. Bone deep the muse engraves her characters and instills them with life. Awaken psyche, the day grows late. Time for a change of skin - a costume of layered leaves and twigs with which to dance among the woodland sprites in autumn’s ballroom.
Breathe deep. Life is intoxicating. It’s also the essence and the soul of the writer’s muse.
Season’s change - What skin are you wearing and do you possess the courage to disrobe and expose that which needs changing? I’m learning. - Indigo
(Curious - how I would know what this sounds like since I'm deaf? It has to do with the acoustics inside a car and vibrations bouncing off every surface.)
Picture From Here