The afternoon has lingered long and I have just slipped to a cozy spot by the fire.
A guest might tell you that I sit quietly and speak in a hushed tone of some memory from long ago. They mean well in their words and in all truth they see someone or something in my stead. I've slipped away for an evening flight. Far above the trees I gaze below to fields of orange pumpkins, sweet potatoes, Peanuts and apples, so many of autumns gifts. I seek the old houses, with long memories and I think on how silent the land is below. Land that offers up her bounty to the first chill night. On this flight I see the deep dark magic of the forests and hear only the voices of nature below. Oh my, Someone has called my name and I am back by my own hearth. My broom stands against the mantle as if it has been there all through the evening. Yes I answer I am listening; let me tell you a story about an autumn evening... You know just an old wives tale I heard somewhere.