stunned by clouds...
and hints of seasonal change....
and hours back home with notebook and pen, trying to shape words into poems. It's all so subtle at this point, autumn, that is.
pears on branches speak of harvests and fruition...
even the trash cans have poetry to impart today....
Someone told me recently that I'd reached a
place in my life that might have taken years of psychotherapy to reach. I didn't tell him that I'd already been there and back...
I move between the seasons
waiting for what can't come.
Greek chorus in the background,
a goddess winks. I hear her laugh.
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