Wake slowly in the quiet valley between mountains, watch the late summer sunrise spread across golden fields, resist rising as your bones beg for more time to rest. Your head is full of poetry, again, your heart full of song. Distant voices call to you but they are not here now, they live elsewhere and you cannot follow where they beckon. You are back on the road, now, back in your one track mind, back in magic. September was made for writing, winter was made for waiting to see what comes out of a silence and grabbing it, here is the gift I give myself, the time has come to make good on your promises.
Everything that is about to happen lies ahead of you.
All you have to do is move
forward.
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