Autumn chases Dawn into the light every morning now. The breeze picks up her feet and dances windy as the Sun sets, splashing September’s gold, crimson and indigo spray from the pool of the Western sky. The Mighty Rockies breathe the scent of pine and early changing Aspen down over the Prairie. I imagine I smell the crisp clean chill that is the prelude to Winter drifting from the great red-stone canyon that lines the beautiful Boulder Creek running wild with the blood of the Goddess. How insignificant we are in the face of such grandeur. Our schemes and plots are trivial when set beside the glory of the smallest flower. Daily my home reminds me that we are as the least speck of dust in the eye of the Great Mother who created my Colorado, and if there is a place more beautiful I have never seen it on this side of dreaming or the other.