Tonight I saw a V of geese flying away for the winter.
They were flying north-east.
“What do you think of that?” I asked The Boss.
“Well, they were probly being led by some male too proud to ask for directions,” he said.
Hey, I didn’t say it. I just hope some chick finds a way to clear her throat with enough intentionality to get that V turned around before it hits Labrador.
Sunday night the wind screamed around my windows; the rain wept and the trees fell and the firefighters rolled out of bed. I thought of everyone I’ve ever loved and lost, and my thoughts were a cry that matched the wind. Gone, gone, gone.
The last leaves have fallen and some say November is an ugly month, a month of sorrow and dying. But I, being born here, love this time of wild wind and scuttling rain. The coral and flame have ripened to auburn and gold, and slowly the Earth grows old enough to raise her naked branches to the sky without a blush. This is life, not death.