Rhythm is a Dancer

All things natural observe the severe changes of the heavens. We can feel the pitch and roll as the nexus shifts alignment and even the lowiest of Gods creatures must resign itself to the part it plays in the changing seasons. Gourds rise from the earth where once was swelling berries. The birds fly before the cold winds. Swarms of bee's are replaced by swarms of dust. The flowers stare at their roots as though accused and awaiting judgement. I too am waiting for the white cloak of winter. We all have rituals, mine involves a suspension of motion, trance like, staring slack jawed and glassy eyed at any surface which reflects dim light, primarily my computer monitor, but sometimes the moon. As a prophet scries the future in a crystal ball, so too light in small quantities grants me unnatural powers reminiscent of these psychonaughts. Sailing on the starry waves of astral existence. My enhanced mental clarity has extended beyond those more physical limitations vastly increasing my zone of control by infecting the minds of those others careless enough to be guided by my dark wishes as the hand of fate fulfilling that which I have forseen. Pawn to King, check!