“The blinding blue of fall urging us to harvest washed over me with shimmering anticipation. The land was alive with the Old Ones, their presence so clear it was difficult to distinguish between those who were of the flesh and those who were free of it. When all else ripened for the Winter Wait, I prepared to be awakened to the dreamtime, one of fifty to guard the sleep of our people. While they nestled into resolute patience we watched alert from the ancient birthplace. Only a handful of us clung to the Old Way out of which we were sprung and to which we always returned….”

Excerpt: Ancestral Airs