We
live in
a
season of lengthening days
We
must believe this to be true
Even
when the skies whisper gray doubt
and
the streams run slow and
ice-covered
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The Leaf is a Metaphor
The glorious bronze Sycamore leaf departed from her home in the trees in mid-November She was not the first leaf to leave* so to speak and s...
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A lonesome heron wading in a lake of gold a peaceful sunset He awoke in a wildern wood cool in the morning air and wan... -
The floating leaves strayed from the straight and wrote in cursive across the river's surface. What words were written, ... -
The creek was dark beneath the canopy of trees save for one shaft of sun that lit the stream there like gold I could see on...
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