And Anon

It is the distinct pressure I welcome fighting eagerly, within these walls of time, to salvage what I may from loss. I dig for it; like a restless adolescent I dig for calming. And pleasure, yes, bring it forth with him (Thank you for him) balancing vagaries littered within my body- a purge, yes... yes... wondrous and perfect and complicated, it reminds life to breathe, to continue, to sustain itself. That "little death" shadows the larger underneath layers of downy as the snow ravages landscapes, that balming ravage I know intimately. It soaks into the parched earth as does his anchor, warming seasoned soil with blue fingertips dancing lightly across as the moon takes the stage, the salvo of stars reverent in their motives to reinforce me before I venture miles from home. And birth once again senses renewal as ashes spread the Atlantic. I finally, now, with pensive feet - wet, sloppy, from sand and water - forgive dawn, I curse the scythe no more because we all return here, to the place where we fall to rise and let the spirits linger around us, around me, they safeguard my heart, protect me, even after the next rustling of leaves golden falling.