He comes to me in the middle of the blackest of the night, between the beams of the moon. He whispers to me of rotting flesh and broken bones, blood gone black from decay. He whispers words of poetry, of the process itself, of the art of Death, of the action of decay. She is…

Leadership (when it sucks)

My local group, Nebraska Heathens United, is starting its third year. Being a leader means that you get to stand in the line of fire and take all of the mud slinging. So be it. Lots of time for hot showers. 🙂