Healing Time (Female Botanist) August 25, 2020

The east winds will come from the west, carrying with it the north and south of dark grayish misery for a time. Sunshine will be lost for a long while. Oh, the seasons will never change. The temperature will be an oven, a furnace, at first; but then the burst of coolness will assure us that she will be done for a spell. Down for a count or two but not out. Fever is always mixed with the chills. Hell never lasts. She’s just telling us we have once again failed. Inhale the smell of the Mother Earth when she is telling us, guiding us with what we need to be freed. Prairie fires aspire to create another climate to regenerate; reformulate the hate. Seeds, once more, need to be replanted and taken care of and grown. Sown from Mary’s DNA without her having to stay. Thank god for that, I must say.