It feels nice to be writing some poems again. Intention matters.
The symphony of the woods
of birds, of insects
of stuff falling around me.
The ephemeral summer,
becoming a person of cold weather,
used to 6-7 seven months of coats.
Confused by the month or two of shorts season.
The fall approaches
Leaves are slowly changing color.
The woods let you know of seasonal change.
Different birds, different insects, different sounds, different leaves.
The brown branches of winter
The budding spring
The greens of summer
The kaleidoscope of autumn.
It’s part of my cycle
I’m a creature of the woods.
The seventy degree January days of Claremont, California
But, I missed the cold, and
the reflective ability to see the winter there.
And knowing that the buds of spring will return soon.