Something Familiar

In the new terrible territory of a pandemic,

in which none of us had the tools to navigate,

we look for something familiar for comfort,

something that reminds us of the before days,

before the world was flipped upside down

and unfamiliar, novel things became our parlance and lived stories.

Mother Earth is the thing,

She is the thing that has stayed our hearts in the deep anxiety,

She has changed seasons to remind us of what doesn’t change in a pandemic,

She has remained constant.

Now she brings autumn with a cool Labor Day weekend,

and will soon be create gorgeous natural oranges, reds, and yellows,

a fire of autumn that can’t help but bring the comfort of

something familiar.

as autumn arrives

the quietness of autumn-gold beams hit the leaves

luminescent leaves of autumn

the full moon lingers near

orange in its slow, low rise

cream in its height

the chill hints that autumn is here

casting its shadows, telling its stories

stories of these old hills — where we are from

nothing new under the sun

draw close and stay warm

good things await…

Moonbeams on Frost

The first frost lays down on the fall grass,

saying “hello!”…….. for it has been a while–

many moons have come and gone since they have shared company.



November’s full moon rises —

as the moonbeams emerge–

they hit the frosted grass.


As the moonbeams and frost meet,

the frost begins dancing like flickering diamonds.


The sounds of the forest are muted as the frost and moonbeams dance,

old friends together in rhythm again announcing that

winter is lingering near.


Beauty is everywhere, even in the night, even in the cold, even in the transition.

The seasons change, teaching us that even in the pain of change, we can dance.

Autumn Dusk

A southern autumn finally makes its way into the hickory, maple, and oak forests,

we’ve been waiting. Longing for it.

Yet, it has been lingering — barely ready to descend – – – until now.

It brings a soft glow that feels like a warm blanket when you’re cold,

you know how it feels, and you need it.


It calls to us softly – – – slow down, slow down – – – winter is coming.

It holds us after a deep and wide year,

A year that has torn our hearts open,

until we come face to face with love,

Are we going to love or are we just going to say we’re going to love?

There’s no time for false faces in autumn. (Except for maybe Halloween)


Is love alive or isn’t it?

Love is too big, too pervasive, too good to fake.

you know how it feels and you need it.

Is love alive or isn’t it?