The year winds down, and our thoughts turn inward. Samhain is fast approaching, as the light of the year fades. At White Rock lake the trees are half shorn, not much color change - just the constant descent of the leaves and fruit from the trees.

Harvesters are out, picking up the pecan nuts and acorns. While some bury them for the a later feast, others bag them up and take them to be de-shelled. Scurrying about for each to take their share - or as much as they can hold.

Bees intent on searching for their last sweet drops of the year, fly to and fro purposefully. A murderous lot of birds hold congress amongst the open limbs of the trees, as they plot the capture of a quick and easy meal. All turns inward.

After the first dark days, we start to expand our circle of understanding. We envelope those closest to us into the folds of our soul. Wrapped warm against the cold of the year.

The long light low across the horizon, casts scattered rays through the trees. Winter rye and clover beam bright greens, carpeting the ground. We hone our skills by the light and warmth of our hearths, to be ready for the fresh start of the year.

Unfinished thought, to recall the memory for a later poem.
~A mad poet Samhain 2004