Bright autumn sun, calls forth the coming of winter.
The cooling wind arrives upon the wings of geese, drawing warmth from the land.
She whispers to the world, "prepare, for the darker times are coming".
The arboreal realm begins to lose its emerald cloak, soon to crowned in golden hue, and then to fade.
Change is upon us dear friends.
Softer the loam in the woodland glade, the signs of hoof, of pad and claw, upset the fallen leaves and twisted thorn, to tell the story of the ones who pass.
Upon broken branch and upturned stone, there lies a saga worthy of a Earl.
Never to be forgotten.
Children of the earth, the time of the feast is nearly upon us, fill your bellies and you will weather the famine, take all you are given, for every gift is a treasure to hold.
Take fire where it is offered, the comfort of the hearth, the shelter of the hospitable, the tales that are told before the crackling flames.
For all are gifts my friends.
Perhaps the Wyrm's own hoard can never be held by hands alone, yet the heart may hold it all.
When trinkets have turned to dust, that sweet nectar will still taste as the bones of Kvasir, inspiration through the darkest night, slaking the thirst of the one who truly holds that golden trove.
So we share this horn my friends.
And so, beggar I may be, within that wilderness I had not a thing, I partook of this game and she won.
And yet she had mercy, for I am a wealthy man, in truth she took nothing, for what I hold is a gift beyond all the silver in the world, I have been loved and I am loved.
My heart overflows, with the dragon's wealth.
I will gladly share these jewels my friends.
|Autumn, by Victoria macleod|
Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony