Scythes and Slicing Light…

There isn’t much different on the surface here, maybe a slight change in colour from faded to even more faded, maybe the feeling of decay mixed with hope, maybe the beige and pastel brown of coffee stains and dried grass. The tracks in the mud from my truck have turned into muddy ruts, the dirt creeping wider than the lane allows. It is damp, sharply cold, and the sun cuts through the air like a scythe. Capturing my attention for a moment, I allow the solar blade to lay its rays across my face.

The warmth moves through me, down my torso, down my legs, and directly into the ground. Grounding myself with the help of celestial beings, the sun reminds me that yes even the drab and dreary IPNW will return to the status of summer once more. Greenery that shrivels under the oppressive heat, the leaves that will fall come autumn, decaying into winter, melting into spring, round and round we go. ruffling the surface like feathers, the scent of new life gusts past my lungs, the breeze of winter leaving town with the warmth of spring hot on her tail. I am ready for the weather to change, for change in general.