When the Winter Came

When I write songs my mind works in two different ways: music & word.

We build our own constellations here.
In shapes of fawn & man;

All have their own meaning--
All have their own shape.

They tell their own stories,
And follow the light of the highest magnitude.

What kind of story am I telling?
Where is my brightest star
I've learned these two languages over my years of being a human: These two forms of communication

Music is a Circle. Words are a Circle. They can role together on the same axle; They can run holding each other close as they twist together in the fabric of space & time; One can be bigger while the smaller one sits in the center, or rolls along the inside.

The two are separate creatures, and their marriage is a sacred thing among the humans.

Fitting together pieces of the word & pieces of the music is one of the most beautiful things I've ever experienced as human. Oh the things that could be said in our sacred art of communication.
When the winter came this year It seems as though I wasn't as prepared as I should have been.

I've never seen the forest be quite like this before; It's all part of these lessons we learn I would suppose.  "I feel as though I'm lost at sea within myself again--", I say as I watch me drift away.