The chill in the air, as a breeze rustles through.
The smell of the moist ground.
Autumn: It’s almost here. 
The flood of memories,
The excitement that comes with the changing of the season.
The relief from the heat of summer.
Fresh beginnings.
A time of gathering up; harvest, 
Of death and resurrection
A leaf on a tree falling to earth
The beauty even in death; with hope of resurrection


Weary from traveling all day and into the night,
     he unloaded his rucksack and laid out his bedroll on the grass.
As he lay there surrounded only by nature, unafraid
     of being alone, he gazed up to the heavens.
The moon looked like a shiny new dime; bright and glimmering in the night sky,
     illuminating the world with a soft and silvery glow.
Stars were scattered through the sky as if they were grains of salt
     spilled across a dusty, dark blue tablecloth.
Bunches of clouds sailed across the night sky
     like triple-masted ships departing a harbor,
     eager to be on their way; their white sails full with a stiff wind.
“In the beginning God created the Heavens and the Earth.”
With this in mind, he closed his eyes and drifted peacefully to sleep.

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).

THE DAY came slow, till five o’clock,
Then sprang before the hills
Like hindered rubies, or the light
A sudden musket spills.

The purple could not keep the east,
The sunrise shook from fold,
Like breadths of topaz, packed a night,
The lady just unrolled.

The happy winds their timbrels took;
The birds, in docile rows,
Arranged themselves around their prince
(The wind is prince of those).

The orchard sparkled like a Jew,—
How mighty ’t was, to stay
A guest in this stupendous place,
The parlor of the day!

My days seem like this sometimes, but weeks too. Usually a week is just dragging by until Wednesday, when *whoosh*. The next thing you know, it’s Sunday!

Sunday night I was laying in bed contemplating lots of things and eventually trying to sleep when I had a burst of writing inspiration. This is what resulted from that:

A Night in Early November 

In my bed by an open window.
A nice cool breeze blowing across my face,
No doubt the outdrafts of the storm to the North.
With the sound of wind-chimes and… what’s that?
A freight train blowing its horn off in the distance.
The moon is bright and clear. Enough so that I
Can see across the yard and view the shadow
Patterns the leaves in the trees are making
On the ground.

Now, I hear the light rumble of thunder, and
See a flash of lightning in the sky from the storm.
The sound of geese honking in flight comes to
My ears, and I’m praying that – soon will be the
Drip-drop and pitter-patter of rain.
This is what comes to my senses, laying on my
Bed, on a Sunday night in early November.


I have another much overdue post coming up soon…