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My Body is Full of Waiting
My body is full of waitingThat heaviness in my chestIs it autumn—?The falling, the dying, the preparingLike squirrels bulking upwhile their arboreal homes slim downAn exchange of energyA filling up and letting go—Something good will come And take my place
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At the Edge
Once Mother left, Charlotte dragged her chair as close to the cliff’s edge as she could, then sat down again, readjusted her skirts, and closed her eyes. The sun did feel lovely. “The best treatment for consumption is sun and sea air,” Dr. Browning had said, and Mother quickly ordered a hansom to Brighton. Despite…
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Slantwise
November always has me thinking of mortality–mine, yes, and that of all that lives– the withering, the drying, the slowing down until the eventual ceasing. But that blaze of slantwise light setting the maples aflame just before dinner– the bears filling up before slumber, the tiny wild creatures stockpiling acorns before the ground freezes over–…
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On a November Evening
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…
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