Writing

I didn't capitalize the word i

six years ago

in July 

in the photo book I made

to commemorate those months

I find myself both fearful and mad

At the outcome that happened on November 5.

I find myself wanting to curl into a ball and hide from it all for four years.

But I can’t.

When the echoes of voices have softened their sound,
And the campaign signs come down from the ground,
We’re left in the quiet, in the soft light of dawn,
To mend what is fractured, to carry on.

Moving mountains,

Falling fountains, 

Whispers of time,

And whatever is mine. 

Holding power,

A complex shower, 

I am tired. 

I am sad.

I am grouchy.

The long night that had occurred, only just hours ago, has left me restless.

And I, am not one to be restless.

The fall breeze.

The brisk cold air.

The color changing leaves.

All of which I am very aware.

The huge leaf piles.

The bare trees, with branches that could stretch on for miles.

The singing birds.