“There was a wind in the trees this morning, and it whispered of things to come. Those branches that once sheltered my house from the hot rays of the June sunshine were now tossing madly with the sudden onslaught of Autumn. Pelting the roof with sopping leaves and vengeful twigs like a man using anything handy in a desperate last stand.
Walking outside later I took note of the damage, surveying a scene that looked like a battlefield of fallen soldiers. I tipped my hat to those who had served their time and now enjoyed peaceful rest.
You cannot tell me the season has not changed, I care not what any calendar may say. I have seen the evidence in the death of green foliage, the fiery hue of a maple ready to give up the goat, and the storms of an impatient winter. All have knocked on my door and peered into my windows with inquisitive eyes.
Now I soak in every available moment of warmth, storing the heat in my flesh to carry me through the long darkness… This winter will be cold, and my thoughts are chilled by the prospect of that empty bed in the black of night.
It takes a lot to be a Wild Woman, and never so much as when the ice comes howling down from the mountains.”