November
The cold, dark, black, almost blue, heavens are restlessly lit bright by the low hanging quarter moon and decorated by empty tree branches who exaggerate the star-sprinkled view. Cold air fill my lungs abruptly meeting my solitude.
The cold, dark, black, almost blue, heavens are restlessly lit bright by the low hanging quarter moon and decorated by empty tree branches who exaggerate the star-sprinkled view. Cold air fill my lungs abruptly meeting my solitude.
The whirling- burling, rustling leaves invite thoughts of everything and everyone and everyone and everything I ever knew and all is good and all is true.
Silence. Solitude. Belonging. Oneness. A moment. I think of you.
November sky.
