I think the autumn is trying to announce itself. It all depends which way you want to describe it. The summer sun fights it back, and in the strongly lit heated afternoon hours nobody would think or worry about the fall one way or the other. However, in the morning, and in the night, its cooler, and the wind is different. It makes you think back, at the beginnings of seasons, of school days, of victories and anxieties both. There is something different in the qualities of dreams is there not, - but how many people know or even care to know this? I went to the crystal shops and looked around- but a lot of the people seem spacey, or else stuck in that part of spiritual searching,- rocks, psychics, talismans, cards, scents, et al. But what need would a true and living God or Source or Power or Divine need for children’s games? – Ah- not that the Oneness excludes anything, but still, - it all seemed perfunctory, light, shallow, - even egocentric. Aren’t those people ultimately about ‘me’. Well,- to go back to the fields,- the secreted fields, sublime, even sacrosanct like an outdoor church - with dogs, with also the beloved sometimes- Latin, brown haired and eyes, dimpled,- knowing- this is better. Those flowers, Red Clovers, - they have stayed, they have stayed the course, and I can see them still where the buttercups, the lilies, the many others have wilted and withdrawn. They form a circle that wants to begin to be oval-, and bits are red whilst others are pink and white, - how well they announce themselves in photographs. The sun, the wild raspberries, - so forth. And the wind, - it is coming across and dancing up the grasses. There is the sound of a tractor in the distance, - the sky, - impossibly vast; - the night already has written a promissory note that it will come again. With it,- dreams, constellations, Gnostic secrets,- maybe a full sort of enlightenment for us all under an ancient moon in an unassuming suburb way down from feral and robust soon to be autumnal fields.