The chill in the air is scented heavily with possibility. Each cloud encroaching on the horizon is pregnant with mystery, ready to precipitate wonder and intrigue. While we retreat inside for warmth, let us also retreat inside our minds to find stories we’ve yet to tell.
The sky darkens, and so our lust for discovery illuminates. The leaves fall, that we may fill the empty places with things un-imagined. The moon shines bright and we see a different world. The crow calls, the wolf howls, and we might seek to understand why.
I feel the wind blowing inspiration toward me, and I tremble with the awesome obligation it suggests. I hear the word “create” whispered in the rustling leaves, and I smile at the suggestion. The air is heavy with wet life yet to breathe. Will you give it a voice?