She stands
In tattered gold
Tossing bits of amber
And jade, jewels of a year grown old:
November.
Zephyr Ware Tarver
The forecast was for snow overnight. I have not yet looked out the window, so I don’t know if it came.
My brain is still in that slightly muffled place it goes to when I am in the midst of some work. It’s like tossing off an endless array of heavy blankets to come out from under it, and I’m never quite free from the covering.
Forced into the real world this morning, I’ll head out to tend to some good and necessary practicalities, all the while chewing on the words and the concepts.
Forgive me if I seem distracted. It’s because I am.
Posted this to Facebook, Linda.