The brilliance of November
at dusk!
Hilltops lit up
like a box of flaming matchsticks,
burning brightly
beneath rose-gold and lavender clouds.

I hope my dying
is like a November evening,
wrapped in a cozy, fiery glow,
celebrating in quiet exaltation
the apex of life.

As my season
of frozen, silent stillness
approaches
(for death is but a season),
I hope I throw my arms up
in joy--and shout--
Look what a glorious life
I’ve led--Look how
all I have grown
and all I have created
has brought me here!

And as I near the end
of my days,
let me greet them
with purpose,
with reverence,
and give back myself to the earth
in thanks for all 
She has given me
and how She has nurtured me
and allowed my blossoming,
my fruiting.