cloud cover

I walk outside after dark and smell the crisp cool of November, the month of birthdays and decay, reflection and gratitude.

Color bleeds from this month in a endless stream of fade. It makes me sad, a little, but also soothes some part of my heart that believes in the comfort of grey, a neutral landscape to paint with words and possibility.

I was born in this month of thanks-giving, so I suppose it’s no coincidence that it holds my favorite holiday.

There is always something to be grateful for.

I breathe this in as a daily reminder.

There were no stars visible in the sky last night, low clouds rolling through on their way to someplace colder, wishing to be relieved of the weight they carry.

But I know, by my horizon, where the North Star hides, the only constant in a world that’s always moving.

Winter’s wife, singing him home.






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