we're into the wandering realm of the season of death, and i shall say how death brings her beauty- in falling leaves. but even more, in welcome brisk nights where you underestimate your bicycle ride, and you are cold.

we fill our bellies with warm things. we reap the fruit of the land in the season of harvest, then we sit around the fire and reap the fruit of good friendship. we give thanks, and it is good. and yet we remember those who have not the means to engage in such heartwarming activities, and we pray for their peace and prosperity.

we wind away, ever casually, towards the dark black night of winter, asking God, who is ever present so deep inside our hearts, to grant us peace and mercy until the long shadows disappear, and we find ourselves once again inside the garden of Eden, as children, not lonely, no, but rejuvenated again by the light of the life-giving rays of spring and the purpose-giving work that is before our hands.