veritae Winter darkness Light

The seashell delicate sky obscures a pale winter sun.  As we drive by a dark twisted forest of all kinds.  Only the dark evergreen pine colors the trees of dark brown and blackish bark.  Striped birch seems gray.  The vine like limbs weave themselves over the panoramic view and dark clouds  edge the horizon.  You have to climb to reach the cold pale winter sky.  Just a glimpse of what the fire is, on the other side of our cosmic chakra system.  Sun is fire.  Sun is Sol.  Sun is spitting at us, each day, the fires we need to live.  For life.  But today, Sun is hiding in a haze of yellowish hue behind light seashell blues and light yellows.  The sky's bleak attempt at warming us.  It gives way to the black clouds and rambling woods.  It runs up to the road to meet us.  It says, 'come in' like in an old fairy tale or horror movie.  Come in.  This is your Pennsylvania version of the English moors.  The woods.  Stick to the road.  Sun is soul.  Beware the moon at night.  Beware the moonlight.  All changes, all dies or all comes alive.  Sick at six p.m. in a midnight deep dark cemetery.  The moon will light it up for strange shadows to dance over headstones and graves.  The grave gives way to disturbed earth.  Lazy grassy lawns with bereaved skeletons inside their boxes.  Modern midnight spooky tales.  These specters claw their way up to listen to the ghastly tale I must tell of pale Suns and brilliant moons and the living limbs in the forest.  The bones rattle and digest each request.  No longer caring but really listening.  This is how we know they are like memories forever ago.  Stark, cold trees and dead things during December's light.  Yule ghosts flitter over ivy and holly.  Here they pass over holy grounds.