Watching Like Crow
Fall winds stripped the trees, their summer finery burned in wet heaps. The sun, far south, burns orange in the roar of roaming garbage trucks.
November 30, 2025
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Fall winds stripped the trees, their summer finery burned in wet heaps. The sun, far south, burns orange in the roar of roaming garbage trucks.
Old age drove the arrogance out, humbled me with aching joints, muscles that no longer work. I get by – climb a hill, carry bundles,
Never so bright as after storms, sun like fire on the sea, ablaze with the truth of earth made whole again and again, to the
Clouds lower, geese cry, rushing tide. Eagle flies, sky arrow, daylight wanes. Root descends, trees pulse, autumn falls. Soul settles, rain-soft earth, dark comfort.
The world unfolds, wind, tide, rain-soaked, life force streaming. Doors of imagination swing on ancient hinges, toward the presence of the Maker. No kneeling, no