I remember . . . / I don’t remember . . .

I heard sirens from across the reservoir – the kind of sirens that sound like a bomb’s gone off, or that there has been an air raid – the kind some towns set off at noon everyday to test, but it was 2:55 PM, so it wasn’t a test.

What if this was it? What if this was the end, the bombs were finally coming?

The leaves rained down. On the path, the leaves crunched beneath my tires. If this was the end, I wondered if my lover would try to get to me. I imagined not having the chance to say “good-bye” to anyone.

I pedaled up an incline that seemed steeper on the way down.

I thought about Ukraine.

Soon it became quiet and I forgot my thoughts.

November 3, 2022
Woodstock, New York


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Holly hails from an illustrious lineage of fortune tellers, yogis, folk healers, troubadours and poets of the fine and mystical arts. Shape-shifting Tantric Siren of the Lunar Mysteries, she surfs the ebbs and flows of the multiverse on the Pure Sound of Creation. Her alchemy is Sacred Folly — revolutionary transformation through Love, deep play, Beauty, and music.

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