October, new old house, poetry

I am reminded this morning of a short story I wrote years ago in which one of the characters said, "It's raining colors."
She was, of course, referring to the leaves falling in these old mountains. I love this time of year.

I have moved to a sweet little older house in Candler and I am in love with it. It sits on a site of over two acres and there are woods and deer and land! How I have missed being connected with land!

Plus, a psychic/medium should never live in a condo. That one you can figure out, I am sure.

I am thinking of Pablo Neruda and his magnificent poetry this morning.
I will never be the wordsmith he was. This I know for sure.

But I wonder ... did he talk with the dead as I do?

Happy Autumn to all of you!