November. A poem.

November.

The bare-ing trees sigh and sway with the weight of 

.

winter coming. Stripped clean of life,

.

they seem to know in their spindly bones

.

a far greater glory awaits them, if

.

they hunker down and weather the blessing

.

of cold, clean rest.

.

November.

.

Winter is coming, and it is a welcome reprieve

.

from the world.

.

🍂


 

A river really does run through it. Day 13 of #25daysofgood

rivers and roads 

and currents run through these

measured days of motherhood, aching

from the slow release of focus.

the love of sons leaks 

from the carved deep canyon of her

soul, and she slowly disappears 

into the splendor of the green, green

valley.


________________

poems and sons becoming men and days spent in the woods are my good today.

 What’s YOUR good?

🔎 Find the good.

📸 Snap a picture.

📲 Share it on social media.

I almost missed it. Day 16, counting down #25daysofgood

Some trees in our yard are bare 

already, fallen leaves brown and dry.

I almost missed

the single white daisy, blooming

as if to spite

the coming frost. “Don’t mind

me,” she says,

and goes right on blooming.

_____________________🍂

 What’s YOUR good today?

🔎 Find the good.

📸 Snap a picture.

📲 Share it on social media.

#25daysofgood