Mid-November dead brown branches yet sunflowers bloom.  Earth cycling spiraling forward unspeakable unprecedented gyrations shaking off the dead clearing out all no longer serving.  As the earth goes we go.  Beautiful day happy to be here.

What it all meant is: this day will never come again and anyone who fails to eat and drink and taste and smell it will never have it offered to him again in all eternity. The sun will never shine as it does today; it is in a constellation in the sky, a conjunction with Jupiter, with me, with Agosto and Ersilia and all of us, a conjunction that will never come again, not in a thousand years. And therefore I want to walk on your left side for a while, because that brings luck, and carry your emerald parasol—under its light my head will look like an opal. But you must play your part and sing a song, one of your best.                       ~  Hermann Hesse, ‘Klingsor’s Last Summer