It’s darker in the mornings, it’s colder at night….we’ve had rain, hard punching rain. I only survive this crappy change knowing that summer comes… I can feel the light of next summer vaguely whispering to me, telling me to wait …. I am one to make the best out of anything, and I will have to, with winter scratching at my door. So the benefit of this oppressive darkness and coming cold is that it pushes me into my cave, my writing cave. I set a tiny fire or really just a spark at first, as my words strike together they make something catch. And as I breathe life into my monster, as that fire burns, small….tiny at first … a flicker, I feel the pyromaniac stir and I want more…I want to set fires… I want my words burnt into minds, my phrases, the imagery, the concept, the twist and twisted, charred into brains. My monsters dare not be forgotten, will not be forgotten. Even though I write them out of myself, I can’t forget them….how could a mother forget her creation….