Autumn Expectation

Autumn seems to be a festival of death and rebirth.

I guess that's why the Autumn has All Souls, All Saints, Halloween, and El Dia de los Muertos; the ripe and peppery pollens of spring and summer are replaced by the heavier and more somnolent powders of the fall: to dry like natron, to embalm like olibanum, and to cense like bitter myrrh, as we follow the avenue of the sphinxes to the pyramids of Osiris' Duat of Trees.

There are grand circular cottonwoods who seem withdrawn now and pre-occupied with their own affairs, the works and days of the forest and the forest outliers, every branch and network bending their planar thinking to the winter solstice and its aftermath: to meditate for three long months, and then to awake in the new spring like the crew of the first spaceship carrying man to habitable exo-planets, full of wonderment and anticipation. Everything will be new and the slate of the past wiped clean, and the vengeful iron chains and sawblades of the past will be broken.

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