It’s that most glorious of days. Crisp weather, bowls of candy on the dining-room table, acres of good food to be made, the beginning of a new witch-year to celebrate. The Little Prince is home from school–eacy year I am amused by the reactions when I call and inform them he won’t be in, it’s a religious holiday for us.
My joys are small, but they are mine.
Lately I’ve been touching the chunk of bloodstone on my desk whenever the light overhead flickers. I wasn’t sure why until I realized it’s the first anniversary of a passing. The body remembers, even if the conscious mind doesn’t. Of course, once you realize what you’re carrying, the load becomes lighter. Human beings need a reason, and if they can’t find one, they’ll make one.
This is, like everything else to do with humanity, both blessing and curse.
Time to smear some sunscreen on and get the morning’s run in, then begin the first round of prep. I want chicken soup, which means I need to roast the defrosted fowl. I’m also going to make these, something the kids are looking forward to with great anticipation. In between, there’s writing to be done and release day prep to finish. Now that I know what I’m about and the last day of the year is here, I can put a few things to bed.
I can’t wait.