Forging Seasons

We were wolves, basking in the glow of the moonlight. Chasing autumn’s heels as winter froze our game. Hungry bellies that ached beneath the warmth of our fur, our smoking breaths, our hopeful howls. We huddled through the cold, cobbling warmth together with beating hearts and heated blood. When spring came, we were the first to greet it. Singing praises to the melting snow and the blooming life. All things renewed in our meadows, filling us to the brim with new scents, new trails. And we stayed through summer as well, panting through the sun’s burden of heat. Powering through so that we might blend with the colors of autumn once again.

We were wolves.

And things were beautiful.

It was not perfect.

It was not easy.

Yet…

It was life.

And it was good.

We were wolves. Together under the gaze of the forgiving moon. Hidden along the trees’ shadows, watchful and hopeful with every passing season. Looking forward to the future together with our eyes looking past the skies.

But now…

Now I’m unsure.

The foreign scent brings me grief. Filling me to the brim with something akin to summer’s heat, yet, it leaves me empty like winter’s bared teeth. This strange, familiar shape I see…

This change brings a season I’ve never heard of before. Winds that jar my senses with the foreign scent it brings.

You’re changing.

You’re…

Leaving.

Becoming… other.

And I don’t know anymore.

If we are not wolves…

Who will we be? Continue reading “Forging Seasons”

Burning Leaves

Sniffing the air, I catch a whiff of it. Just the tiniest hint.

Juniper.

Birch.

Fire.

You.

The tug that follows runs deep. Pulling at my core, my foundation. I can feel the movement of it in the air, in the earth. This was more than a calling. More than an emptiness, or a filling. More than the physical world.

This was…

More.

Catching that whiff, feeling that tug, I don’t stand there.

I run.

I run, hoping.

Hoping to reach you. Continue reading “Burning Leaves”

Feeling Fall

Crunching red underfoot. Hanging orange from above. The wind whispers chills into my veins, raises goosebumps on my skin with it’s secrets. The trees are naked, bare. Revealing that even nature has its weaknesses. Even nature needs to rest.

I love the fall.

The way the wind rises, and the trees burn without ash, and the air tingles with the chill.

For a season of dying, it’s all very lively. Filled with light, and color. Brings you an aching sort of melancholy. One that ends with a hope, and a bitter cold twist.

An ache you don’t want to ignore. Continue reading “Feeling Fall”

Fall Beast

Yesterday, the trees were red. Beautiful, vibrant red. Like a pastel painting.

But today?

Today, the trees are naked.

Completely and utterly naked.

Not a single red leaf is left.

Even if it is pretty inelegant of us to call this season fall, it makes sense. The most sense, actually. Because fall is the season where the leaves change. Where they wither. Where they die. It’s the place where the death of winter is blocked from touching the warmth of summer. Fall sets in and changes things, makes the transition, keeps the order. Where things fall in and out of place.

I’m no exception. Continue reading “Fall Beast”