Small Weathers · Poem 6 of 6
↺ Read from the startOctober, Mostly
The maple gave up first, the way a friend leaves a party: early, all at once, and red about it.
I raked the yard into a shape I could almost call a decision. The wind disagreed. The wind has never once let me finish a thought.
Still, I like it out here, the light going gold and then going, the porch holding the last warm hour like a cup in both hands.
You’re caught up.Juniper Vale posts next on Sun, Nov 1. Subscribe and it’ll show up in your feed.
Small Weathers
A poem or three on the first of every month. Light, wind, porches, and the people on them.
Comments
“Like a cup in both hands.” Read this one out loud to my mom.
The first of the month is my favorite day now.