Moist the air that brings to light…cedar chips and all it delights
While cantankerous fowl sweet-talk to be gods of the sky
Eyes open wide while I release the shutters of months left behind
This passage of rites, fool hardy?
Nudged, I arise to this transformation of movement
So, when it stirs, I stir
When it darkens I lament
An eerie sense of comfort in the December mist.
I collect all my faults in…what is unnoticed.
Though, I am not half the woman I think I am.
Isolation in the still-life of rain…
Guards the fact that I am still somewhat…sane.
an energy from the earth.
A sort of, classical tale of rebirth.
in the cumulative air, a slight whisper…
“I like the way you think…
…But I hate the way you act.”