fell

---

If you are reading this Monthly Word of mine, chances are this isn’t your first time. You might have noticed that these messages are cryptic & heavy on the metaphor. If you are a Constant Reader (shout out to Stephen King), you’ve likely made peace with the Words not making  sense to you until later, if ever. To be honest, even though I write the posts, I don’t always understand them myself. These messages come to me & through me but they are not mine. There is no discrimination, either in the reception or the transmission. Once the information is deciphered, anyone can tune in, regardless of their comprehension. Or intention.

So. If these Words are warnings, then those who are in danger may read them, as well as the very same folks being warned against. If these are predictions, then those who want them to come true may read them, as well as those who don’t want them to come true. No matter how good a plan is, if the opps overhear, it’s going to be thwarted.  This is why no matter how many tools of divination we have at our disposal, the fact is the future is not yet written. Our power lies in one place only: NOW. 

And the best part is that it is always now. You will do well to remember that, Constant Reader, regardless of your intention. If you are the Warned, then hopefully you have read between the lines all these months, & you have (despite all opps & odds) done what you needed to do. If you haven’t, read again:  the time is NOW. Your power is NOW. Guard your heart, gird your loins & get it done. 

However if you are the Danger,  it should be dawning on you (right about now) that your time is up. Your stolen blueprints, down to the last detail, were coded for your demise. In your arrogance, did you fail to notice your castles were built on quicksand? Were you too busy rushing up to your towers, that you didn’t notice a wobble in the stairs? Quicksand isn’t like in the movies, silly rabbit. In real life, the sinking happens so slowly, you barely notice...until it's too late.

Oh well, the sand is past the locks now, higher than the doors. The windows you so cleverly designed to let secrets in yet keep reality out, will never open widely enough for your escape. Yet they are still so pristine, so crystal clear. From solid ground, we can see your panicked confusion. Your shouts ring out for miles. Desperately you cling to the last word you overheard:
​
Timber.