Dia de los muertos, halloween, thanksgiving. The season of harvest and fall. Old skin peels away and provides through its decay a nutrients for the cold soil to prep again for spring.
How I love this season. The veil thins, the foliage. The colors and first chill speak to me. They whisper with that haunting wind all things to come. All things buried. All things past.
And I saunter through the dead of night, on a full moon, howling like a beast.
I creep along the midnight hour and writhe in my humaness. I revel the animal in me.