I've been a bit silent, tucked up in the cave of my head. The frost kill of autumn is dropping quickly into the end of my calendar, settling September, October, November, and soon December under a thick blanket of dying, crackling leaves. And even in that, there's a rising warmth: all of this is kindling for thinking, tinderstarter for a heat of words. I'm walking the territories of deadfall, gathering kindling from this article here and that conversation there, and slowly, surely, building a bonfire of the mind. Soon, all of these pieces will make sense together: beautiful flames licking at the barn door, engulfing the roof, culling the unnecessary.