Moon of Falling Leaves

It was the tenth moon.  The Moon of Falling Leaves.  Scarlet red leaves bled into beautiful bursts of radiant auburn.  Far off, lingered the fragrant scent of prairie fires and distant shadowy pine forests.   I bowed to the great mother earth and kissed the rich soil, celebrated the lingering warmth of Indian Summer dusk, and bathed in the golden hue of light that penetrated lush cedar and spruce.  I can still smell the vast ancient woodlands that spread out into eternal oblivion.  Beyond the tree line, beyond the canopy the elders said a great salty ocean merged into the sandy coast, its surface glowing and magical, its depths the most beautiful shade of ultramarine.  I remember my grandfather would say to me, "Everyday is a good day to be alive, so do not linger in the past, or be troubled by the future, live this moment, and feel as if you were one with the sky, the flowers, the stars, the rain, and the stones.  That's when you will feel truly happy and free.  Release all of your possessions.  Feel yourself vanish, melting and merging with the thirteen moons of the turtle's back, circling and returning to the words of your forefathers.  Celebrate the earth, revel in the seasons, dance in the tiny swirling breezes of early twilight.  Find your way back son, find your way back, open your eyes, to the old forgotten customs, ceremonies and ancient knowledge,  the simple keys to this fragile future of your children, and the generations thereafter.  The truths that are given freely to us, but spurned by most, from this wonderful generous  grandmother earth."