We want to retain what we cannot. We feel the velvet of summer, the tenderness of living and the depth of warmth. Fragrance lingers but for a while. Our eyes drink and our mind holds dear connecting senses to heart. The heart of May. The woman in us, all of us, unfolding our gentle hearts and there is the gift of giving, the bloodline of love.
A season can have different faces. It can be misty and grey or display the warmest colours. When we walk in the bright day, colours flash at us from rustling branches. Gems of lemon, orange and marsala. Till the wind shakes them and ruffles their last resistance into oblivion. The fall has arrived. Fall with leafy notes strewn about, the last reminiscence of autumn. Gems of fragility, keepsakes for the long wait. The barren land will soon withdraw colour. We should pick it in abundance, the fall before winter.
Cold water and time dissolves dried blood. Rowan dashes disappear. Translucent, invisible now what was crimson not long ago.
The red hot life is fragile. Spills of energy, outbursts and velocity cannot persist. Yet, the gentle still water can. It takes our sores away, the stains, the splatter of ignorance. When the blood is watered the spell is broken.