The golden leaves of the birch trees
have leaped from their limbs
and lie in repose littering
the orange-golden ground.
A gust of cold November wind
swoooooops down the hillside
headlong,
sweeping the leaves into
exhilarated animation.
The leaves leap to their feet
and altogether,
in one mad-happy crowd
they race across the street,
like schoolchildren
running out to recess.
Ann Keiffer
November, 2010
Photo Credit: Flickr Creative Commons License Cecil Sanders
I am interested in the strange beauty of brokenness, in transforming possibility in difficult times, in how we heal even when we can’t get better, in the alchemy of surrender, in the interplay of light and shadow, in the bounty of everyday wonders, in the gift of laughter…and writing about it, all and everything.
I am interested in the strange beauty of brokenness, in transforming possibility in difficult times, in how we heal even when we can’t get better, in the alchemy of surrender, in the interplay of light and shadow, in the bounty of everyday wonders, in the gift of laughter…and writing about it, all and everything.
