“High Summer” is the phrase I use at this time of year to describe the incredible rush that one feels whenever venturing outside. All the signs are there that we’re falling headlong towards autumn. The natural world is working frenetically to finish growing every last fruit and veggie until first frost. The treetops are noticeably tinged with the first hint of red. Already, most of the transient robins are gone from my area, and geese are gathering in the newly-shorn meadow. Outside my window, crickets are chirruping, desperate for a mate, humming madly from sunset to dawn. All of the northern hemisphere, it seems, is gearing up; the days are visibly shorter, and despite the warmth of the next few days, the evenings are cool.
In this time of full fruits and harvest I offer the fullness of who I am to my Master. He is the one that fills me, feeds me, nurtures me, honing me down to my purest slut self. I’m full, and ripe, and ready.
Pick this, Master.