September

     September was my month. My month to take a really big, fat break from the facts of existence. I lay my head on the whimsical airs that permeate the hot density of the fleeting, yet arresting Summer. And while this ethereal persona deconstructs itself into a vanishing act, I push through with my lethargic attempt to join the falling of the leaves. To make naked. To bare myself from that which keeps me safe and sometimes guarded. After all, I am body. So, I stripped myself pure. It was not intentional, I swear. The cry of a baby is never a manipulative form of destruction, but rather an awakening into a life unknown where one hopes one may be love. And that I am. Love. If anything, it is quiet a thrill to relish in cumulative events of self realization.  "... And you got moxie!" he clamored. He steers me in, I admit. Closer to my secret place.
     Inadvertently, the change we oftentimes fear, we seldom rely on. I have decided I shall rely on Fall. I believe I have shed significant ego thus far. And so, I am perfectly attired to become a beggar child of the Redwood forest. That mustard-seed-size faith they profess is contained in my side denim pocket. I'm blindly enthusiastic, you see. An unshelled experience awaits us ahead. It's only a short drive north. I flourish in anticipation.