angelbirdflies

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow -- even today I am still arriving. Look deeply: every second I am arriving to be a bud on a Spring branch, to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings, learning to sing in my new nest, to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone. I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, to fear and to hope. The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death of all that is alive. I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river. And I am the bird that swoops down to swallow the mayfly. I am the frog swimming happily in the clear water of a pond. And I am the grass-snake that silently feeds itself on the frog. I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, my legs as thin as bamboo sticks. And I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to Uganda. I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat, who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea pirate. And I am the pirate, my heart not yet cap...

This was Shane's first trip to a pumpkin patch. He was so excited, like a child, he clapped his hands and kept looking at each pumpkin to determine which was the best, he finally decided on a large albino pumpkin with a promising shape. Owen selected a small round pumpkin, while I went for size and chose one I could hardly lift. The boys ate meat of every description, sold by the vendors and then went on a twirling ride that turned Shane a subtle shade of green. It was a fabulous time, made better by the company and the shifting, changing celebration of the Season.

Shane, Owen, Bodhi and I were fortunate enough to bask in the royal splendor of golden leaf on azure sky. Bodhi loved hiking, he particularly liked the constant parade of admirers on the trail. Leaves are dazzling the hillsides with a parade of color and a dance of twirling gold. It was a magical day.