Running Dog/Dying time

And let this be a dying time
For this is a dying time
there will be growing times
later, perhaps
spring will follow,
blooming and fragrant.
But it is Autumn now
and the air is cooling
So let me flare golden
in quiet acceptance
and lay me down.

Lay me down in the soft, black Earth
and let the leaves settle gently over me
and let the raindrops touch my stillness
and let the soft black earth grow over me
mold like gray fur
and let me die.

For this is a dying time
let the fluids of me leak out
into this moist soil
And distant fiddle music wash over me
like the taste of tart apples
and let my heart merge quiet to the ground.

Running Dog/Tree--Stone at Roots, Trunk Grown Around It

Wrote this one on my recent foray to Ansel Adams wilderness, as will become abundantly clear very soon.

oh, and happy Equinox, everyone! I had a great time, horseback riding, nice company and the wonderful delicious Sebastopol Celtic music festival, what more could a little jackal want?

( As you approach the summit, there is far more stone than soil )