As fall fades away, winter is slowly approaching, and my wings begin to grow

Like a bird, I, too, fly south in the winter

Tonight, when we got home, we had a fantastic sunset. The sky was a perfect pink, setting over the goat’s house.

As we drove home, I noticed the leaves that were once a faded green are now yellow, red, and orange. The air has a bit of a chill, a bite, to warn you that summer is long gone, and fall will be nothing but a brief hello and then goodbye.

The animals are growing in their winter coats, which they shed earlier this spring. We may all be preparing for hibernation and the long winter.

I have always romanticized and fantasized about living in a place where, when it is winter, I can go inward and forget the outside world exists.

As much as the animals get fluffy for winter, they shed it again in spring. Except in today’s world of the modern age, winter is nothing but a season, and the only thing that changes is how many layers we have on.

I do not enjoy winter, but I enjoy the fantasy of it, much like a relationship.

I enjoy the fantasy, but I prefer to let it pass through like sand when I have it in my grips. I prepare my wings to fly south as they prepare for the long winter.

Where it is always summer, the sun brings happiness and joy. I can feel less stifled by my clothing and wear as little as possible, which makes me feel more raw and real, where I can fly high above the trees or float along the river while soaking in the rays.

The ability to choose is one I have created in the new life that I live in, my new world. I often feel like a fish out of water in the northern hemisphere; my skin becomes dry and dull, and life slowly disappears from my face and eyes.

As soon as I head south and am kissed by the sun, I come alive; there is no need for companionship as I have myself and PachaMama — the greatest companion of all.

Some will judge me and project their insecurities upon me, and all I can say is that I will not be pulled down to meet another person, yet I will wait for them to leap up to join me on my cloud.

One that sits just above the treeline on the mountains. The one that gently glides in and out, enjoying the view, soaring with the birds, and singing the song of life.

When I reach my next incarnation, I will already know what flying is like.

Pacha Mama is an artist, and all she creates is art; all we are is art on her fantastic canvas. Whether you like it cold or hot, it is all how it is meant to be, as we are all one with her.

XOXO

S