The Empty Beauty of September

The hollowness and dread, the poignant bittersweet slant of the sun's rays, the occasional blast of the coming cold winds. All this is why I did not choose to write during September, the month that has always been the start of my undoing. I have always been able to sense the future, if not the events, then certainly the emotions that are coming my way. And as soon as the Fall Equinox arrives, I begin to glimpse the dark tunnel of winter, and I slowly turn around into myself, to sift through the year's offerings and replenish what has been lost as I wait silently for the sun to lure me back out into the world for the Rebirth that is Spring.