It's dark. Damned dark...as in pitch black India ink, can't-see-the-nipples-on-the-end-of-my-breasts dark. It's supposed to be this way. The shortest day came and went and the sun limps begrudingly towards spring. My reckoning with steely January, one day away, unfolds under a full moon, blue moon and lunar
Oy vey. (My jewish girlfriends wouldn't have to worry that they'd spelled it right.)
I'm way beyond the reach of St. John's Wort; burrowing fast, to a place where chatter ceases. Approaching Janus, two-faced God of gates and thresholds, beginnings and endings. Ready to leave this fear-filled decade of idiot wind behind.