windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (Default)
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
by Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion — put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go.

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.


~*~

I'm grateful for the webbed way the world works. I wished for produce, fresh fruits and vegetables, and they began to appear here and there. Without spending a dime, they rolled in to supplement our pantry at the end of the month. We hiked and were given apples, we volunteered and were rewarded with pounds of grapes that others said they couldn't use, we asked a question and walked away with day-old breads handmade and wholesome. I told my son, "I'm sorry, we don't have any oranges" and he said, "Yes we do! I know where they are!" and there, in a forgotten bowl in a closed-off room, they were. I can never predict how the Universe will meet my needs nor how I will be meeting others' needs around me, but somehow it does and I do and together, beautifully, things get better for all.
windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (joy fae)
"We have never wanted to be alone. But today, we are alone. We are more fragmented and isolated from one another than ever before. Archbishop Desmond Tutu describes it as 'a radical brokenness in all of existence.' We move at frantic speed, spinning out into greater isolation. We seek consolation in everything except each other. The entire world seems hypnotized in the wrong direction--encouraging us to love things rather than people, to embrace everything new without noticing what's lost or wrong, to choose fear instead of peace. We promise ourselves everything except each other. We've forgotten the source of true contentment and well-being."


~Margaret J. Wheatley in Turning to One Another: Simple Conversations to Restore Hope to the Future


Today, I am especially thankful for the people in my life who generously lend inspiration and solace, love and encouragement, understanding and kindness. Because of you, I am never alone. Thank you for showing me the value of immaterial riches and pushing me to be better than I think myself capable.
windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (Grow)
IMG_0838


On my last day working with Yellow, I still don't have resolution to my housing limbo. I don't know if we'll have to move or not. I've realized that's part of the lesson--that inner sunshine, that safety net of daily practice, outreach, and gratitude must operate independently from my circumstances. I can't be grateful because things are going swimmingly or because hard times have passed--I have to continue to be grateful during those storms and trials. Yellow is about where I go when things turn hard and how my mind perceives the events in my life.

Everywhere I've looked this month, I've seen yellow flowers. I've bought them for myself at my local grocer and seen a variety of cheerfully bright wildflowers winking at me all over town. They're at the beach, where I've played with my son, and they're cultivated carefully in the bank parking lot, and they're tucked into the woodlands along our daily drives and walks. The blossoms in my own life, with Yellow, are blooming gently as well. We finally joined our local Unitarian Universalist church for services and found a community that welcomes my pagan beliefs and nurtures my drive for philanthropic work, belonging, and my need to be needed. It serves my husband and my son equally well. It's a strong thread in my safety net of sunshine. The homeschooling group I've joined is a great mom-resource for me and my new swap community here on LiveJournal is off to a warm and wonderful start. I'm a lifelong loner so this is fairly new territory for me to be so social and interconnected with others.

The final sermon of my U.U.-infused Yellow Month was about abundant thinking. Do we feel the warmth of our abundance every day or the chilling darkness of scarcity? Are we content and secure or do we feel that we've slipped behind in a race for resources? Do we cheer the successes and joys of those around us or do we harbor resentment and jealousy that they got something good and we did not? Are we trusting community to hold us or are we fighting an endless battle of survival alone? Do we live with hearts open or shielded and shelled? That frantic scarcity mindset, the basic belief that there is not enough to go around and so each individual (and maybe their loved ones) must compete against everyone and everything else to get theirs, to survive, has so damaged our communal and tribal lines. It divides people and divides groups. There are "us" and "them" divisions all over the place. With perceived lack, there isn't enough water, food, jobs, money, security, happiness, rights, attention, fame, beauty, talent, nor even salvation enough to go around. We think some will have it and others will not and we scramble, we scrabble, we compete--we ration, we hoard, we grasp. And it's killing us from spirit on out to physical reality.

There is enough to go around if we start to consider the difference between "enough for me" and "enough for we". There is enough abundance in the world if I can live without locking the bomb shelter doors behind me, if I can 'relax the reflex of grab', 'to love and not to hold'. The first step, beyond gratitude and the peaceful mindset of abundance and contentment, is to reconnect with community. What I've failed in is that I'm living as an island when I could be a strong and supportive, supported part of that vast tapestry of humanity. I can trust community to hold me when I need it and I can provide support when it is needed of me. When did the idea of becoming an individual become so central to the society I live in? When was it that neighbors could no longer pop next door for a borrowed cup of sugar, a shared treehouse, a communal lawn mower? When did it become so shameful to not be able to stand on your own two feet, alone, when all along what everyone has needed is the give and take, contributions and honest needs, of a community acting together? Together, if we expect abundance and trust there is enough and give and share and see what we have instead of what we lack, couldn't we thrive instead of just survive?

I came into the month feeling no bit of Yellow in my core. I couldn't relate to it. I've realized, though, that I couldn't relate because it is inherent to me. I haven't had to struggle and work with Yellow lessons. It is one of my super-powers and perhaps the one, more than anything, that has made me who I am.

The question is--what radical, life-changing things could I do with it?

Wendell Berry's poem, The Wisdom to Survive, was read during the service. I share it here. )
windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (Grow)
It didn't take long after my first post on Yellow to start to get some traction with the concept of the color, to have an insight that got my feet firmly planted beneath me for the month. I went back to Temple of the Twelve and read the section where Caroline worked with Lady Yellow. She observed the embodied color for quite some time as she did rather cheerful, nurturing, outdoorsy sorts of things. She was active and involved in all sorts of things. Then, unexpectedly, Caroline was hurtled into the abyss of depression and helplessness and hopelessness. That's when I 'got it'.

I had this image of that abyss, that bottomless, lightless trap of despair that anyone could trip into in life and over mine, a safety net of woven, golden-yellow sunshine. I could hover over the pit, get a really good look of it, but the qualities of Yellow were protecting me from ever falling in. This protective net, I could see, was something I weave continuously as part of my daily practice. The strong threads of bright sunshine are spun from daily gratitude, taking care of my needs, making connections with positive people, doing work that feels important to me, finding humor in trying circumstances, choosing to Love instead of to Fear, getting outside into fresh breezes, soul-scouring sunshine, and renewing rainstorms. When I'm struggling emotionally or spiritually, I take time out to watch old movies, call my friends, write in my journal, eat natural/nutritious foods, exercise, get more sleep, take bubble baths. That helps tremendously but I know that the things I do on all the days when the abyss isn't threatening me are what really protect me from hurtling down into it on the days when it does. That safety net has to be there, in full repair, long before I ever need it.

I don't think much about Yellow, nor did I feel it was a color I resonated with, because I don't have a lack of it. It isn't something I have big swings with. It is always there to support me because of the small things I do each day. I was raised in a family where the net was important and everyone knew how to protect and produce their own through their efforts, their thoughts, and the company they kept.

The month, through seeming coincidence, has become wildly all about community for me and building new, supportive, positive community ties. I was accepted, after quite an application process, into a small group of homeschoolers in my area that have children my son's age. (Our first meeting was a tremendous success and I look forward to having all these new mom-friends in my life.) My husband and I finally attended local Unitarian Universalist church's service in our new hometown and found a sanctuary for our beliefs, our family, our desire to contribute and belong that supports my pagan faith. And finally, after years of being away from mail swaps, I created a new community [livejournal.com profile] starblessedswap that I'm filled with enthusiasm, hope, and plans for. It all feels wonderful, light and love, and connected and doubly so now that I'm visually, viscerally aware of what it is doing in my life, weaving tight that safety net of sunshine.

IMG_0609
Here I am, with my son, weaving part of that net by running through the sprinklers, shrieking, on a hot summer day. :)

I hope the rest of you are finding the month's lessons fulfilling. <3
windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (silver cloak)
I first spent a month working with Silver in August/September of last year. Like this month, I wrote very little about my progress. It was a big shift then as astrology roared into my life and transformed from a long-held hobby into a portal to Everything. I found my niche, a spiritual place where my unique abilities, perceptions, and communicative abilities blazed into this light, this Sight, that changed me forever. I couldn't encapsulate that experience adequately on a journal. It was an initiation, a Mystery experience that felt impossible to explain or share. I came out the other side of that first Silver Moon with my whole brain rewired. I saw things differently. Something awoke with absolute purity and certainty and Light within me. My magick, as a witch, flared up and threaded into everything and I could see it. I found my way to the Divine, to plug in instead of just to visit.

This month, the lesson from Silver has been related to those first lessons about finding my personal magick, my own strengths, what I'm built to do well. Silver has pointed out the simplest, most powerful magick of all--the magick of perception. The silver token I started the month out with on my altar, the meditation focus, reads, "Problems are messages. I am listening." Problems are not sea walls to hurl myself and my magick against in order to fix or undo them. Problems are not inconveniences or detours on my mostly-serene spiritual path. Problems are messages. I remember when I first got that token, drawn to the serene image of a meditating figure under a field of stars but unsettled by the message on the back. Did I really want to invoke problems into my life? Do I really want to stand up and volunteer to be clotheslined by the Universe's oft-joked-of 'Clue By Four'? But I bought it then, despite my discomfort, and I included it as one of the central pieces of my Silver altar this month.

This month has had a lot of messages. It has been a month of painful misunderstandings, poor health, and many, many, many, many stressful minor emergencies. I started the month laughing and shaking my head and feeling like I was really in for it. (I was.) What I'm leaving the month with, though, is the unshakable certainty that problems aren't just messages--they are calls to greatness. They're opportunities to practice the magick of perception.

Through a month of repetitive mishap, I've come to appreciate what I have that much more. My sense of humor turns spectacular falls into pratfalls and the most terrifying moments of my day into entertaining stories to retell after the crisis is past. I'm scrambling to cope and adjust and do what needs doing, but I'm also aware at a calm inner level that these are minor life issues that do not touch the core of who I am or the heart of what's important.

I remember coming up with a personal motto awhile back. It was, In Gratitude--Peace and Plenty and this month has only engraved the message a little deeper into the soul of my spiritual and magickal practice.

An unbelievable amount of spellwork becomes unnecessary when I make a simple shift in perspective, in perception, from one of FEAR/scarcity/bitterness/regret/anger/impatience into one of LOVE/gratitude/joy/acceptance/compassion/patience. The need for action drops away and my life, my experience of it, becomes this tremendous self-restoring reservoir of peace, clarity, and magick.

I don't need to create magick. I am living a magickal life. I am made of magick. I need to work towards what I want, appreciate what I have, allow for things to change and surprise me, and remember to let go and breathe.

There is no more efficacious, instantaneous magick than stepping back and taking a second, more loving look at circumstances. Gratitude can transform anything. Problems are messages. I am listening. Problems are sometimes jokes, too. It's okay for me to laugh.


IMG_0574

~*~

As a side note from the month, my three year old son and I were playing a game where I'd name one thing and he'd name the opposite. High/Low. Bright/Dark. Near/Far. Happy/Sad. I asked him what the opposite of "Scared" was and he said, "Good".

I suggested some alternatives but he was adamant. The opposite of scared is good. I've heard people interviewed for acts of heroism and they always seem to say they were scared, of course, but they turned it off and did what they felt was Right. They did what they could, they did what they must, they just had to despite the fear. Maybe Graeme is right--maybe when we choose to act out of Good we vanquish Fear's hold over us.

What have I to fear in my life if I choose to do good? If I choose to be grateful? If I choose to believe I have what I need?

It's magick. Far more powerful, more long-lasting, and more life-changing than any spell I could cook up in more traditional ways.
windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (pink lotus candles)
photo(22)

Separating my experiences at Diana's Grove the weekend before my surgery, the hurt and healing of the surgery saga itself, the month of working on compassion and other "Pink" topics in Temple of the Twelve, and everything else that has been unsaid for so many weeks is impossible. It is such a tangle! Everywhere, lately, I've been discovering wise words about wounds and compassion in such a synchronous flood that it is impossible to ignore how important the lesson must be for me to learn. I'd love to be able to compartmentalize it into neat single-topic entries here and yet I can't cut it cleanly apart. So, eventually I'll talk about Diana's Grove and how some of those moments fold back into some of my surgery moments and my healing moments and my Temple of the Twelve moments. For now, though, as best as I can, I wanted to tell you what I learned about my third, and greatest, heart wound.

I don't count myself.

This month, my Pink Month with Temple of the Twelve, I accepted a few challenges. I agreed to dig for and uncover my three greatest heart wounds. I vowed to take steps to heal those wounds and to develop, in particular, a long-range strategy for the healing of the largest of these. I intended to act in a mindfully compassionate manner every day. I dared to stand my ground, at least, and stop running from love in all its forms as it made its way towards me. I would do (and record) one kind thing for someone else each day of the month. Tall order, all of that, from such a gentle color! :)

Following my surgery, I was doing some mid-moon musing on all the ways that this month has changed me and I have risen to the challenges Pink set before me. I've realized that I was shorting those around me by giving generously but carefully avoiding having to receive love/gifts/favors/encouragement/compliments/you name it in return. I wasn't allowing people to really connect with me, to know me beyond my surface layers. I've learned a lot about wounds--the way they stick around only because I feed them, the way that they can be honored by me and yet not sustained, and to appreciate their making as opportunities for compassionate growth within me. I've enjoyed the feeling of gifting myself with flowers for the sheer beauty and enjoyment of the act or surprising loved ones and strangers with tokens of appreciation and magick. I've affirmed for myself how inseparable my compassion and my service of priestessing are intertwined. There was one thing, though, that I had not done. I did not record my daily acts of kindness. Two days ago, I was quite certain, I would be repeating my Pink month in order to meet that obligation fairly.

It isn't that I didn't share a smile or a kind word, an encouraging note, a meal, or a gift with someone every day. Chances are good that I did. I left small "Believe" cards behind on bus benches and subway seats with random quotes about faith and accomplishment. I contributed uplifting, beloved books to the neighborhood free book exchange box. I called a rescue organization and did my best to aid a young pigeon in peril. I bought a meal and extra groceries for a neighborhood homeless man I've sailed past apologetically in the past. I poured my heart into the natal chart readings I did for people. I gave away gifts both small and large. I made a point to cheer all the people who crossed my path--nurses, cashiers, bus drivers. I wrote thank you notes in my hospital bed to the staff who delivered my food, checked my blood pressure, wheeled my bed from place to place. What I didn't do, though, was record any of it. I had failed in that obligation, completely, and would have to start over again next new moon.

On Lammas, all the things I had to mentally unpack wove together into one all-encompassing sense of insight. One part of that new knowledge is that my not-recording my good deeds is actually a symptom of my greatest heart wound--I do not count myself. I think that everyone around me is so beautiful, so heroic, so worthy of praise. I love the spark of the divine within their eyes and watch with sheer admiration the loving work their hands do in the world. They may not see their strength, their light, the difference their lives are making in the world--but I do. Me, though, I do not count myself. What I do is ordinary and flawed and always-too-little, so I do not count myself. When I achieve things that make my soul sing, they are soon forgotten. When I fall short of my expectations for myself, however, I remember those things forever.

At Diana's Grove, we were encouraged in ritual to string beads of challenge onto a string representing our life. Instead of counting our lives as a series of failures, we were pushed to rewrite those challenges into victories--even if that victory was merely surviving the hard time. I cannot tell you how much I wept. I see everyone for their victories, for their purest motives and most untarnished qualities, and myself I sketch in negative space. Here's where I fell, chose badly, stepped awry, took too long, wasted potential, wasted time, wasted space, did not do that which I knew was right. Here is where I screwed up my Pink Month's endeavours by not writing something down each day.

So slowly and finally, the messages are starting to sink in from the month. On Lammas, it all came together in one knowing--I am deserving of an equal share of compassion. It is a given that I am flawed, that I am challenged by this life and that I don't always respond in the way that I would wish. It is a given that I act sometimes out of fear instead of love, out of pain instead of wisdom. This is a given for everyone. This is not why I don't deserve compassion but rather why I require it. I must begin to count myself. I am as beautiful, as important and immortal and precious, as those who catch my eye and my heart and my admiration around me.

I must count myself, number my victories instead of my failures, and lend myself the compassion I need to truly thrive and grow and dare.
~*~

photo(33)
This month, I ran across two phenomenal pink items from a catalog of inspirational gifts for women. They made me weep with joy and soul-deep longing, so I bought them. There would be women aplenty in my life that I could gift them to. That is my way, when I see wonderful things, I want to give them to wonderful people. One, a small blank journal, reads on the cover, "She just had this way of brightening the day." The other, a portable folding picture frame, read on the outside cover, "She makes the world a better place." For Lammas, as an act of compassion to myself, I gave those gifts to myself. I will not redo my month of Pink, unless my New Moon time with Lady Pink convinces me otherwise, but part of my long-term task of healing my wound of not-counting-myself, I am keeping track in my little pink book my kindnesses of the day--for myself and for others. Into the picture frame, I slipped a photo of myself and a trimmed down card from the same "She..." line that reads, "She listened to her heart above all the other voices."

It feels too extravagantly, embarrassingly kind to myself and yet also, I know soul-deep, true. I have trouble holding onto the knowledge in the midst of all my self-criticism, but I am good and loving and compassionate and influential. The less I doubt myself, the more impossible, world-changing things I can achieve.

We are all necessary, irreplaceable, glorious lights in this life, finding the places where our unique abilities are cried out for, altering forevermore the lives of those we touch, shaping the world with our love and compassion--and I-Am-Counting-My-Self!

(I hope you will, too.)

photo(32)
windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (perfect love)
I originally posted this to my fellow Outer Temple classmates. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the issue, too. (Whether you're a witch or not.)
~~

Speaking of Thanks-Giving

In the Autumn 2009 edition of SageWoman magazine, ritual arts columnist DeAnna Alba wrote,

"I have done literally hundreds of rituals in my thirty-plus years as a Witch. I have participated in the rituals of a variety of Wiccan/Pagan paths and traditions ranging for British Traditional through Dianic to the wildly eclectic; attended rituals involving two or three people, and ones with hundreds of attendees and any number in between. But in all of those rituals in all of those years, not once have I seen a Ritual of Thanksgiving."

She went on to suggest that most of the rituals she'd attended were geared towards asking Divinity for assistance.

"We are like little children who [are] constantly asking Mommy or Daddy to "gimme, gimme, gimme"....do we ever actually sit before our altars with the sole intent of saying thank you?"

What do you think? Has that been your experience in the pagan community? Is she right?

I was knocked back by the harsh tone and don't care to be painted by such a broad brush of pagan greed and magickal immaturity. I'd say the majority of my ritual life is communion and gratitude, an exchange of emotional energy with my gods instead of a petition to them for help. In fact, I must say, a great deal of it is checking in to see what they'll have *me* do for *them* next. Hardly a "gimme gimme" mentality, so I was offended by the tone of the article and its assumption that pagans don't know how to be grateful for what we already have. Maybe I'm being too touchy. Maybe I'm wrong.

My question to you, my fellow witches, is whether you have any rituals of thanks-giving? Do you ever participate in ritual or do little things to acknowledge the blessings you've received in your life? Do you have habits of gratitude in your daily practice or larger rituals in your repertoire to express thanks for the blessings in your life, dark and light, as they stand?

My daily practice includes reading from books on gratitude like M.J. Ryan's edited collection A Grateful Heart: Daily Blessings for the Evening Meal from Buddha to the Beatles. As the main component of our Mabon celebration with our SpiralScouts circle and my son, we made gratitude mobiles where we used fallen branches, yarn, cardstock and a lot of creativity to cut and color shapes representing some of the many blessings we're thankful for in our lives. They've fluttered since, beautifully, heartfully displayed like arts and crafts prayer flags, like a mobile of magick for the harvest season. After recently learning that $1 donated to our local food bank can feed a meal to a family of four, I've contemplated getting a coin bank for our dining room table so that each time we have a meal together, we can invite a family, via donation, to join us at our own table. I have a playlist in my iTunes of upbeat, optimistic, life-is-good, rocking-philanthropy tunes and I can tell you at least once a month that gets cranked up for an hour of ecstatic ritual ala socked feet dancing on hardwood floors.

Would I like to do more gratitude work? Yeah. I'd love to spend the time to write an excellent chant along the lines of "Thank you, thank you, thank you, hurrah!". I'd like to stay as mindful of the good life I've got around St. Patrick's Day as I do when Thanksgiving and Mabon swing around on the Wheel. I'd like to participate in more community rituals where gratitude and an outpouring of love for Divinity was the primary focus. But yeah, thanksgiving rituals? I think Alba has been spending 30 years in the wrong crowds if she's *never* seen one.

What do you think? Do you have any rituals of thanksgiving or gratitude, any time when you cast a circle with the sole intent of saying thanks? Do you have any particularly pagan rituals for Thanksgiving, the holiday? Am I a feel-good crackpot? Typical pagan? Tell me. :D I'm curious about your opinion and personal experiences. :)

Blessings (I'm counting 'em!),

Rachel
windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (Isis Portrait)
I started writing for NaNo at midnight on November 1st. Eight hundred words in, I called it a night and headed to bed. It wasn't flowing very well. I wasn't fired up to write it and I hadn't figured out who was the most appropriate narrator out of my cast of characters. They all know different things and have something else to contribute to the story. I toyed around with jumping from one to another. It was a pretty shoddy patchwork. Uninspiring. It would take an eternity to peck out 50,000 words at the rate I was going. I needed a story that was more ready to go. Was NaNo not for me this year?

I woke up after five hours alive with an idea for my 29 Gifts experience. I would organize a food drive in our building for the month of November. I couldn't sleep another moment, I had to jump out of bed and brainstorm and print things and daydream about how I could get my neighbors as involved and motivated as I was. My soul was on fire and my brain was nonstop and I knew, without any doubt, that NaNo was definitely not for me this year. I could spend my free time writing a story I don't know how to tell yet or I could spend it, a blaze of excitement, doing charitable work that would make the world around me a better place. The passion I have for one above the other made it a complete no-brainer.

I signed up for 29gifts.org and have spent eight days consciously looking for ways to give gifts every day. I've been blogging my experiences on that community, but thought I'd post every week or so here for those interested but not keen on surfing off LiveJournal to keep up.

Eight days of gifts, under here... )
windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (bunny)
When you see this, take a minute and share five good things of your day with the world, uncut.

1. I got to spend the morning chatting with my housekeeper. He's like family and it is nice to have someone in the house visiting. :)

2. Graeme's sudden need for a nap saved us from being outside during the sudden summer thunderstorm that blew in and started zapping everything.

3. I finished a great book this morning, Fairest by Gail Carson Levine, before Graeme even woke up.

4. Sharing an apple with Graeme, watching him take his absurd,unpracticed, gap-toothed toddler bites. :D

5. Finding an unexpected message inside a box of raisins that read, "Study those you admire." I didn't know raisin boxes had messages on the flaps! How cheery! :)

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windinthemaples: A lane of red maple trees in riotous fall color. (Default)
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