These times, they are a changin’. Guess that’s fair enough. The winds have come, strong powerful gales blowing dust, seeds, spores, and memories away on grand adventures. They bring riders – cool nights, dew-covered grass, and crisp morning air. A cold splash of icy water across your face where just last week the same had been tepid.

Winter is coming, it’s harbinger arrived and the rains are slowing and coming to a halt. The evenings most often are clear and cold with the stars pulsing, etched against a milky white galaxy.

The night sky here can’t be called black – it’s a radiant display of dark hues and complicated mixtures of color.

There are two planets visible – one twinkling red and angry, the other yellow and rich. Orion strides across the sky hand in belt and bow held high. The world here is ancient. Gods stand – their silhouettes like embers carved across dark swirling currents of ash silver, topaz, amethyst and diamonds.

As the wind whispers of winter the world begins to listen. Animals begin to change – fur thickens, they start eating more and more… Life prepares for its cycle.

These new smells on the wind tell of people and lands far away – the Avatar of travel and wanderlust – winds hold us captive – scintillate us with sensations and an overwhelming desire to be carried away – to seek those far off places and explore every nook and cranny of the world.

The seasons, are changing – crops are ripening, harvest comes not a moment too soon. Starved hungry faces look in delight to their fields. Tables feel the thrill of new colors, smells and different shapes than the staples of hunger season. The world colludes our senses and tells us in a million different subtleties – I’m changing.

The winds bring something else. They bring, soft and sweet upon their lips, the promise of sweat, hard work, and learning. Cold and winter might be coming, but our work begins in earnest now. Once the fields are harvested, grain and sustenance provided for the year, once the rains have come to an end, then begins the time of rest from manual labor – and the beginning of strenuous mental exercise.

For once, freed by the winds from the fields and labor of growing, time begins to flow freely to be used as we please.

The grounds harden, the sun shines brighter and longer. Building and brick making begin – projects and constructions come alive…

The promise lies on the lips of the winds, whispered like a lover across the nape of your neck, tingling down your spine and brushing your hair with gentle fingers…the seasons are changing.