Leaving yoga at 8 and the dark has settled. This wist that sinks in seems something of relic, a deep past where my cells must have watched the sun etching toward the equinox with a sense that it was time to burrow. time to put away what needs the daylight and build fires and weave warmth.
my skin loves hot sun, loves warmth permeating down and through, back into the earth. As the year wears on, I feel like I glide above a slowly hardening ground, rootless. I stop turning it with my garden tools and let it lie, a smooth surface for skating.
I could do without this season.