The sunlight that no matter how clear and contrasted was like a blanket’s pulled up on it bc of that dark. The uppershore ppl in my dream and especially what they were peddling. Fall Equinox week, 78 degrees in the hurricane-clean, bare feet and the hot feel good sun. The signs, pirate smile and wink flash goes fast of the tide outbound but like watch out it’s coming (and rolls on out) count on it…fall. I laugh at my self and see my shadow shaking my head with the laughter in the grass. Knowing the good earth song was afoot and too, the little ignition light of my own voice again, and with it feet itchn to run.

So to Baltimore it was. Artscape on Saturday cancelled, we missed Brooks there on Friday but heard the scene was poppin. That’s the day the rains came. The rains, which have been here since, so we had to cancel our first overnight in the tent. So we sat through them end of tailgate then flocka flockin first loss for purple ahhh god and what heartbeat, what life that was just to cheer the hometown in the the stadium part of it in the rain. Season of the storm. Second sea-sun local’s summer harvest season, my favorite last good high tide time. Also entryway, dark side, also entryway: on the coast it’s now season of storm.

So Jotto and I make fast last minute plans and jump outta town and see Shanky. See Philly. See Pink. Merciful lord that woman. It goes quick and meant to portend better best things. In the midst of the week many people walking through sudden, immediate change. Many people’s lives are rocky, on the rocks. Like how that word is used with the word bottom. I watch and witness and see ppl miss, land, fear, retrace, correct, repair, forget the steps. I walk my rocky walk, too. See also happy emergence, remember-ing again. The enamoring part of my work runs like a soothing stream or deep earthen bath all around me.

I am grateful to remember: gratitude at the door of change.

Come, fall~

Saturday in Baltimore instead of Artscape and blue skies was us barely making it through the front door of the paper factory that once was rock and roll haven and heaven of sleaze and bad decisions and took me happily back to some of my most fun times. It was hard to imagine the cousin born when the me of yesterday was being served underage on the Bmore club scene was now getting married in that grunge industry building turned, in Tom’s equally mystified words, now to Baltimore upper-middle class social venue, all under the same old overpass of 395.

Times change. I think of the brother of my baby cousin the new groom, the progressive grass roots organizer Baltimore city lawyer talking with pride about living in the South Balto neighborhood now where his dad’s dad’s dad got off the boat. Or maybe one more removed, but you get the picture.

Going home again, and so forth.

Not first people, and indebted to the land here all the same.

Maybe more so, because of? I think many thoughts in the woods walking, edge of ancient cypress forest frog loud in its snoring, reverie, gratitude, grounding in my location.

Which brings me now to the first full moon of fall, making it second harvest then as is the one that marks this passing. I think of getting out the relics and pics and so forth for the alter. I have had a thank you ancestor candle going since the first harvest moon and am content with that instead.

More and more the monasticism calls me back towards quietude, made small outside by and near the earth like tiny flowers when I get to fill my spare time with the buoyancy of prayer. Now I nod towards the willow, in the direction of that good orange horizon and dusk. Come hear to sing my song in that vein. To my ancestors who long know the time I’ve worked to make allies. Acknowledgements to them all in small acts or great, as well, as the season around me starts to change. Parents of the parents of the parents I am blessed to know and have on this side. Godparents. Mentors in recovery and other paths of wisdom. Wickedly wise women. To diPrima, to Ellie. This side and that~ to the other side/s, and the earth, and the long held knowing of that bond of sovereignty. To sisters.

My mom’s side/s, both of which the large folk communities of churchly hill people lean.

Prayers for my beloveds, showing God not my problems but my problems how big my God.

Gretchen’s words. I see her, Gretchen like grandmother Spider, web a moment past my imagination, She Is/Spider big and always weaving and for just a beat she drapes the sun. She shows up in wolf spidey form at circle and I’m just done.

Ahh that dear Gretchen could beat with holy Mother.

We have another site visit, I am reminded, brought to remember again to bide it, it’s all earth’s song.

And, it works. Faith. Pink! By which I mean something else entirely here~image of the magic of pure love which is transcendental not the singer, who maybe I am betting also knows this, tho, too. Who has been touched by supersonic from how she lives the soul. I am happy, at the horizon. If I may be so bold~

That we may all call more of that in.