There are martyrs in the woods and candles in the bushes. The sky is dark and the time of wind is upon us. The dogs sense that something is wrong. They whimper at the movements in the shadows that only they see. The rocks in the road are sharper than my father-in-laws pocket knife. The squirrels leap across the branches to avoid them. Sadness seems to be winning. A chill reaches out for our bodies. After weeks of heat we consider submission. Tonight we will rest uneasy. The hatches are secured. The talismans are nailed to the door. God saves.
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