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Another crisp oregon morning spent on a damp bus stop bench. Steamy resperation dancing from beneath the subtle hook of my hoody, teasing my mind with images from deep with in before being fading back in to the recesses of my mind. The thin coat of wet and this familar cold hints at the last days of summer, and autumns slow spiraling dcent into winter. I cant say I'll miss the sun. It beings life into the world, but it's harsh and ever presesnt. Seemingly watching your every move. Even when under shelter it's presence is made known through the sheer radiance of the power it imposes on the surface of my little world. Sort of like that father I never realized I had but now realize I
never wanted. Winter I miss. The lack of leaves and the morning cold that dominates the suns blaring heat even in at it's peak. Winds that howl through the narroe passages between houses like a wolfs song through a loud speaker before dissipating into whispers of eternity at my window. Something about the cold just makes me feel so at home. Winter is death, but not that violent painful death that mankind fears. It's that subtle quiet death, the one where you have that brief moment of clarity where everything seems to align. The leaves of life are stripped away and the rivers of world stand still for obseravation. Morid and beautiful all at the same time