Your fierce winds shake my window
Against my palms.
Through this door
I watch the inevitable,
But don't really invite it.
All of the red, gold, orange and brown
Gave some consolation
Over the passing of the green,
But I'd rather not see those leaves go,
Thank you.
Yet there they blow...
Taken from the trees,
Despite their individual flailing objections.
No, I am not happy either.
Off they go, ripped into a wind swirl.
No, I am not happy either.
See them taken by the overpowering wind,
Like a flock of blackbirds,
Only these without any hope,
Anything in them,
Any guiding instinct,
Any radar, any homing device,
Any means...
These just go,
and they fall.
Not many more still hang on to the trees
The wind won't get to keep doing its damage though,
Because soon there won't be any left
To tear from what has been their
Home and family,
Their source of life
(But not the ultimate Source).
November winds, be gone.
Prologue, Near the End of November...
The squirrels have managed
To come out to play,
Hopping in pines, in the sunshine....
I count my blessings here - things are okay
But how we all need the better days
(to come, soon, very soon).
:)
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