The storms are upon us. Leaves wilt, whither, and die. Animals seek shelter from the powers of the weather. Birds flit away in dark clouds to ravage sunnier places... "There was a dark and awful wood where increments of death accrued to every leaf and antlered head until it whithered and was dead."
We are here to share the beauty of the dying summer. Each of you must face death. It is not a fearsome thing - anymore than any other inevitability, anyhow. Every year, the seasons bring death upon us, without our consent. Even the season of death must pass...
Come in and share our
muse.
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