Providence, let me preserve this moment in amber, for it is perfect in all ways. The full Moon rises slowly, and its light is a bright pathway upon the black water. All else is dark, and the trees are only silhouettes standing watch over the temporary wilderness all around. Inside, I’ve one candle to keep back the night, and it is enough. My eyes have watered from the harsh light of summer and can take no more; the Moon and the solitary flame are illumination enough, and much kinder on my weary vision. Providence, let me linger in this moment, for I have felt so out of place in the day. I belong here, kneeling upon this Autumn altar with my paltry gifts of wax and cinnamon. I am whole here. I am at peace here. Providence, let me stay, for I am so loath to seek my bed and waste dreaming to meet the Sun again. I would wrap myself in leaves and furs if only you would promise that when I woke, it would not be to that same harsh sky and the long hours between dawn and dusk. See how I linger here, so still that even the Moon passes my form by as it climbs the clear sky? See how I, having no cool rains to calm this anxiety, must soothe myself with senseless words? There is a rhythm to these words, like the rocking of a cradle or a lullaby for the child, the sister, the mother, the lover. Providence, summer wastes me. Summer cracks my lips and dries the ocean in my heart until I am all dunes and white bones. Summer weighs heavy on my limbs until I want only to lay down and never rise. Usher in the golden Autumn, then, and cover me over with a blanket of leaves and spices. Let me seek slumber tonight and wake to the silver rain, for I cannot stand another endless day under summer’s blistering Sun. I’ve only words, after all. How powerful are they against the very turning of the seasons? How can they not shrivel when planted in such parched earth?

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