Gray and brown November
Where blue overhead is unexpected
And cold white blasts unwelcome.
It is so hard to roll easily
from Indian Summer
To deep November slumber.
And so I make of myself a seedpod
Keeping all my green freshness
On the inside I practice unfurling,
While I settle into the leaf drift
That hums softly
Beneath the bare-branches of your days.
Wherever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you peace.
poetry by Aisling