If I squint,I can almost see steam liftingfrom a cauldron in the forestand smell changedrifting through the air.I am looking at the shardsof the year,some new-broken,some re-collected,some shining with possibility,and I feel the call,the urge,the promise,to tip them all into that bubbling vatand see what She will steep meinto next. Each year, in August, I […]
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