I retract my complaints. Night and cool rain is a blessing.

I feel the need for a cleansing fast. I feel heavy and cluttered. I will take longer walks this week, far past the ordinary ends. I will sing to myself and indulge whims and listen for that elusive quiet breath of the earth I can sometimes hear.

This is the end of summer, the harvest time. The fields are filled with yellow and brown and time grows thick and hazy. Soon I will be in perpetual war with the heavy lidded lure of sleep and the weariness of days that darken quickly, nights that last too long. This is the time to prepare for that. To reap what I have sown.

I realized something last night, while waiting for sleep.

I am terrified of death. Of dying. Terrified.

I suppose acknowledging it is the first step and all, but - I don't exactly know where to go from there. There is no way that I can think of to get over a fear like that. Which, really, is probably why I'm so afraid of it, no? The ultimate unknown.