the trees are holding themselves so still. even the sky barely moves. rowan berries drip from their branches whilst i harvest the colour of these early mornings. it floods my heart. sometimes i pray. to my two mothers... i could tell of all the ways to make me fall in love with you; a different you on a daily basis, but always you.... a stream of incense smoke dances erratically at the window. the strangest things are making me cry lately; nerve endings spread like the root systems of myself planted in the bucket of seeds growing at my front door. autumn is on the doorstep transforming the world into it's own version of a sensualist's dream. i want to savour it, not waste words. walk in the woods, along the river. be. criss cross the days with journeys profound and small, and ponder the wisdom of winter, who holds it all in, waiting and knowing that for everything there is a time and order.