solitude is sweet
avoiding criticism
and sarcasm rude

November calls to me
in moaning wind rattling doors and shutters
bending gnarled weather scarred oaks


November calls to me
in blue gray mists
swathing forest and morning meadows
endowing them in aura of mystery


November calls to me
in icy drizzle
flooding like tears
filling me with hopeless despair


November calls to me
in dry rustle of dying leaves
echoing voices from yesterday

I needed him like a fire needed oxygen, my soul set on fire by his radiant heart. my breath caught in my throat as his lips lightly touched my cheek, the fire burning brighter than ever before…