November leaves

The balmy days of Indian summer have given way to the chill of November. Time to break out the winter coats and jackets. Invariably, I’ll reach into the pockets and finger something from the past season- a receipt, old gum, a piece of mail I meant to throw out.  And then I’m taken back to last year when I wore the coat last, vaguely recalling what I was doing, thinking, feeling.  As the leaves are swept from the trees and landscape is readied for the ravage of winter, there’s a certain prick of sadness for the passage of time and the resolutions  unfulfilled.

 Memory

In last year’s coat

She walked a November path:

Saw the antique leaves shaken from the branches

Heard the scrabble of leaves on stone

Sniffed the sweet-sharp hint of snow

And shivering, dug deep into patched pockets

Fingering the old pain

Hearing the clink of small sorrows

MEG

Categories: observations