In wild explosions of fiery colour that fans our inner flame, October’s woods are turning into towering bonfires, ablaze with free-falling fruit. As leaves flutter and fall we run around like children, trying to catch them in mid-air.
As the last summer rose scatters, the warm autumn breeze tastes of apple and blackberry pie, bounty from the Great Mother who has given Her body willingly. Drunken bees cling to over-ripe, succulent pears, feasting as the gathering begins.
Wearing summer’s golden crown the month of August arrives like a struck match, burning quickly as we enter the dog days of summer. Wild fires lay waste the land as the scorching sun burns the gasping fields.
Dressed in golden rays of light, with Father Sun stamped, firmly into the cloudless sky, we enter the dust-covered, burning cathedral of summer. With windows wide open, the shade becomes as much of a joy as the scorching sun.