Day is done, Sun surrender to the moon's cool reign. Grey clouds cross an inky black sky; stars glitter like strewn sugar crytals. Saw a fox trot into a ravine on my way back home. Rolled down my window to say, "Hi." Free beauty, all around us. Open up your eyes and look. Saturday dies, bearing Sunday as she leaves. November nears, hatching from the egg that is October. Halloween is the beak of the little chick, poking through the shell to taste the brisk daylight. Come, oh time. Come on. Come and go till thou art gone; then please, come again.

Truth infection caught from the host, indeed, the Lord of Hosts. I am a carrier, and I desire His illness, which is my wellness, to spread to all others. Let us all be infected by the light that penetrates, rejuvinates, replenishes. Give thyself to the good infection. In sickness, thou shalt be made well. And I myself will die, so that it is not me who lives, but Christ that lives in me. He is the Host, and we are to be Carriers for Him.