The pines across the street
Are taking it like soldiers
On the front line of battle.
Oh, but it isn’t a battle, friend;
The storm is a blessing,
Water is a blessing,
And pines are really bowing
As a way to say Thank You.
As if it were a bowl. I haven’t seen a bird all day.
A fine ash has settled on everything, on our lives.
Even the sun looks hazy and gray,
But it pleases me to know that the sun is actually safe,
Far above this gloom.
Something moves in one of my redwood trees;
There is a bird after all.
A lark.
___________________
My old house is framed with color
As the bright orange leaves drift down
In the light wind and soft, soft rain.
A wet afternoon on November,
Looking up in the drizzle.
But spend every day hiding in these same rooms,
What would it mean to be alive?
Sometimes I think I could just kiss the Angel
And let the darkness take me.
Free. My own choice.
Here, take my mask, take my gloves.
See me smile before I touch my eyes.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Napping after church, dreaming of Bashō crossing a flooded river on horseback. Nighttime. Rain.
—James Lee Jobe
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to James Lee Jobe on this Thanksgiving weekend!
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