It’s been a nice time of taking a step back, writing a little less after the hustle of #NaNoWriMo and watching the world wind down into winter.
Well not the world, of course, just my world. It’s funny how often we get the two confused. Where you are, right now, you might have the kind of air buoyant with warm flower freshness, a sky as blue, but mine is the blue of colored ice.
I watch as condensation from steam vents falls under the weight of freezing on this glistening day and think about the turn of the wheel of time. Onward we go, onward always, as we cannot know what is to come.
It’s been a long year.
Some day, people will look back on this chunk of history and there will be no question marks, aside from the universal how and why. They will know how it all turned out, if democracy triumphed, if democracy fell. If it’s the latter, our glorious history of a government for the people and by the people will be recast as something else, something sinister.
Keep an eye out for that.
But it’s not all over yet. Not just yet. Every winter has a beginning.
And every winter has an end.
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