Conversation Between Solis and ready

November has turned into November. Yikes. Relentlessly November: gray, chilled, colorless, drizzle, leaf-less, flake-less ... waiting.

Aw, shucks - I missed your birthday! Happy belated, Solis!

Celebrating with equinoctial thoughts of you, dear. Working, with amiable persistence, to keep chaos and madness at bay. Pretty much surrendering to everything else.

Passing through on the vernal equinox... hope you are happy (in life, not just about me passing through).

tick, tick, tick ... an equinox impends.

Aware, as I am, of the slow, inexorable approach of another solstice - and the consequent prospect of your fleeting appearance - I wrote.

“Or maybe spring is the season of love and fall the season of mad lust. Spring for flirting but fall for the untamed delicious wild thing.” I'll look for you at the next equinox, wyld chyld.

Had I mentioned that Creme Puff the Cat lived to be 38, too?

You know, you leave me breathless with the whirlwind pace of your comings and goings.

Because, well, it's been over two years since I've left you a visitor message. It was time.