The nights are growing longer and I’m ready to dig into the worlds underneath. Maybe I have this attitude having been born on the shortest day of the year. The longest stretch of night on this small part of the globe.

This time of year is when the hallow’s are more accessible among whispers of the rituals that lie within being spiritual. But those rituals imply routines, and routines imply patterns, and patterns imply cycles. Knowing myself means that I know that this time of year is always a matter of grieving.

i have to be careful with words