Going through boxes and boxes of stuff in preparation for downsizing during the next decade, or so.
I was quite young when I wrote this. Perhaps it was 55 years ago. Nevertheless, here it is
Going through boxes and boxes of stuff in preparation for downsizing during the next decade, or so.
I was quite young when I wrote this. Perhaps it was 55 years ago. Nevertheless, here it is
It’s that time of year again.
—∞—
Each morning© 2014 Thomas W. Cummins
Slightly darker
On the pale carpet of the bunkhouse
My socks are located
In the dim light
I get dressed
It’s that point
Neither night nor day
Muted even further
By towering trees
In the woods
An eastern horizon
Gives no hint of daybreak
Nor any hint of what the day may hold
What a seamless series of nows
May present
©2017 Thomas W. Cummins
Sharing as much light as she can, an early morning full moon gently placed a bright square upon our bedroom wall.
A was reminded of this earlier post.
——
Beckoning full moon Flirting behind soaring pines Morning rendezvous© 2012 Thomas W. Cummins
I heard it fall
It was just a leaf
A tiny dried leaf
Yet when it fell
Alone on the wood porch
I stopped
On that warm, sunny, summer day
A slight chill
Fall foreshadowed
Another season
Suddenly present
© 2016 Thomas W. Cummins
It’s that time of year again. Always eye-catching, thought-provoking.
© 2012 Thomas W. Cummins