this morning is september. a powerful wave that has been circling the ocean of my heart since last september (and the september before that, and the september before that, and the september before that, and so on) arrives again. the day hits me in a way that the first of no other month does. why is this?

this year is the same, but different. i am rousing my windhorse today and riding her, riding her, riding her. she has a mane that tickles my face and mingles with my tears as she gallops fearlessly through the wave that is crashing, again, on this shore.