There is a special place within my mind where none may enter but me. It’s a haven rife with color and life yet devoid of human eye – save mine.

Its mid-autumn, the beginning of the Cleansing Time when Nature, in her wisdom begins to sweep away that which must reincarnate to nourish the earth below me. While I, seated upon an outcrop mere feet above crystal clear brook watch rafts of amber, crimson and ochre drift lazily to the vermillion lake. My back resting within the arms of aged oak – I feel its life flow and hear its wisdom upon the wind.

Around me, life scurries and flies in preparation for the Resting Time when all things shall dream of tomorrow. I hear the winged ones calling their friends to travel while the four legs prepare dens and burrows for the long sleep. The six and eight legs now long hidden awaiting the warm days to return.

The air is brisk with scents of the forest – reminders that life continues.

Here, in my solitude the pains of my body may not enter while the pains of my mind begin to heal for this is my Crying Time. The tears of my shame and lost memories will join the crystal waters of the brook, perhaps to be carried away upon the rafts of another time.

It is my Healing Time!

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