religion

My church is in the trees,
where the wind can preach.
My sermons in the sound
of the leaves on the ground.
And my God, He is in my heart
and everywhere else I failed to mention.

fall always lifts me, moreso than other seasons

10/10/10 - To December and Past

These changes, this weather,
feels my veins with fire.
There is nothing in nature as delightfully foreshadowing
of the wonder and the warmth to come.

Spring launches my spirits.
Summer calms my aching palms.
But Fall, fall screams.
It lifts me when it parachutes down.
Holds me when it bombards me.

A fire pit is what everything becomes,
not on fire but drenched in timber and smoke;
yelling, demanding a flannel fortress
to protect the thoughts that only escape
on the smoking breath of outsiders.
Outsiders not because they are apart,
but because they are not indoors.

Wonder is only on the horizon.
It’s just peeking but it again, feels me with purpose.
There are dreadful things coming
but so is Christmas and old friends,
new memories and a lot of paper,
pages and pages of paper.

When I dream I will remember the blizzards
and remind myself that the cold is your poison.
Good thing we have a fireplace now.
I can build a fire while you are still stretching under sheets.
One that will dance skyward until you have arisen.
One that will be complimented with a sweet embrace from behind
and a solid promise to keep you warm;
something you already know.
A promise you’ll expect to be carried out
so you can make it past December.