Riding the air
In dark morning
A steady current of rain
Descends
Upon everything
The fir tree
The house roof
My dogs fur
The empty Ash tree
The fallen leaves
Brown, red, yellow, orange
The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath
The puddles
The street
The cement
My head

My ears hear each
Multitude of patterned drops
In apparent chaos
Reminds me of the brain
The synapses in my brain
Circuitry, each drop a connection from
Dendrite to dentride
Messages of the unknown
Of falling to earth
Of vulnerable life
Unprotected.

The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed?
Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill.
Will today you find some without a home
Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen
To the same rain
While they shiver
And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to
Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses
And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in
The open now, soaking as I pen these words.

Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop.
Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the  light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.

mittened hands wrapped
around hot choc mugs
light-hearted bickering
over the tones and shades
of leaves yet to fall
chilly sun-streaked mornings
of fresh earthy air
and early hibernation nights
of gathered quietude
that indulgent autumn
for which she longed
seemed not to arrive
at least not as expected
set to follow the bright
bustling summer excitement
always written to precede
the forward-looking days
of winter's introspection
ordained as it was
by the dictums of old
those of time and tide
instead her blooming
has been a wearisome
back-and-forth between
the extremes of each
untimely and unexpected
yet unfortunately necessary
before she might witness
those flowers of hers
blossoming under
the warmth and light
of that newly shining Sun

I open my door to the icy cold,
Look up at the moon to see it's no longer full.
I start my walk and notice the ground glitters
It's kind of funny, how black ice likes to shimmer

It wasn't shimmering when I was drifting earlier
Although the thrill and dodge made me shiver,
Invisibility never caused me to quiver
All it gifted me was loneliness and shelter

Does the ice feel the same kind of chill
As it wraps the world in a frozen thrill?
Beneath its glimmer, secrets are concealed,
A dance with shadows, as the moonlight spills.

The forecast on the radio
I didn't need.
I felt it coming
In and through the threads of my light sweater
Tickling my skin so my arms embraced
One another.

The barometer falling
As are the remaining Ash leaves
Of yellow, like canaries rushing about
Certainly saying goodbye
To the past
As they must
When the wind picks up.

Hurling chilly
whips of wind
down
The East canyon
Announcing its arrival
I think of my warmest coat
And how long I'll have to wear it
As I sit on the porch in my shivering
Bare feet listening for what is to come
The seasons change
How will I?

Her heart could heal
the heather,
Even in the colder weather's grip -
snapping the bony, brittle twigs
And sparkling sharply on abandoned leaves -
She could find her ease
On the downy carpet of the diseased,
Gather their lost limbs
Like a forgiveness-
That warm welcome of forget.
She could rest her head,
And bloom,
Bright blossom gazing up at the moon
More often than the sun,
Her fire blazing on -
A little hearth, among the heather
Warming roots in the
Colder months.

The wind blows, the trees

are bare and wet, the full moon --


glides pale behind them.

I guess some need the tragedy
Rambling mind and trembling feet
Falling for every fallen leaf
Desperate to keep winter out of reach

Because at least in summertime, everyone else seems happy.