The whispering recollection of a hazy chime, all things enlivened by the sound of rushing water. Curl yourself into a tiny ball and raise your face to the sky, because when it is dark, we look for stars. The plaintive flatlands ask you to turn the inside, out. You probably know what this means. Oh and another thing: why be normal?
Today’s elementals: the translucence of morning dew, citrine, music in the key of F, the sight of a shooting star, the valorous essence of mullein.
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Waxing Gibbous
The moon is 14 days old