Autumn is a time of death. But death also brings life. Renewal. As always, I feel like every fiber of my being will reawaken with the earth in Spring.
As the season draws nearer and nearer, I rejoice, because the cycle is beginning again. I am impatient to see what the coming months have in store for me. I confess that I am anxious. I am afraid, even. My life seems to be slowly crumbling, the deep fissures do not want to keep holding. If I do not find my metephorical cement soon, I fear the results. More cracks appear, and I do not know how to repair them.














