November isn’t the ninth month of the year.

November 16, 2010

Early November,
I walk beneath
flaming trees.
_______________

Autumn in the woods
walking through the fire
pine cones for hot coals.
_______________

Autumn splendour:
yellowed leaves
on their backs
tickled
by the breeze.
_______________

Autumn splendour:
yellowed leaves
belly up
bask
in the midday sun.
_______________

Snow
flake
geometry.
_______________

Frozen lake.
Sheet
of glass
that cuts
the earth.
_______________

Pine cones
scattered across
rusty rail tracks.
_______________

Tracks in the snow
tell of
a wild life.
_______________

Bobcat glimpsed, blurred
frost sparkles
on the road
not taken.
(inspired by Robert Frost).
_______________

Winter weeps
frozen tears,
‘glass’ beads
scattered
below my outstretched hands.
_______________
Winter rose:
frosted
glass-beaded dew
for a
necklace.
_______________

Laptop’s humming battery
keeps me warm
on cold
autumn
evenings.
_______________

Freedom
abandon
skidding sliding
along
icy pavements.
_______________

Icing on my lawn
frost sparkles in dawn’s rays, your
body a blanket.
_______________

Tears trickle
down
her cheeks
rain on the
window pane.
_______________

Axe fell
cleaved
the stump.
_______________

On the window ledge
hardpacked snow sparkles below
a star-speckled black.
_______________

The snow
cupped
in my hands
burnt my flesh
raw.
_______________

Sun dappled
stretched out
on a soft bed of
sweet cherry
blossom snow.
______________

Flame-licked auburn:
autumn burns.

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One Response to “November isn’t the ninth month of the year.”

  1. “Winter rose:
    frosted
    glass-beaded dew
    for a
    necklace.”

    just beautiful.. I enjoyed the read.

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