Not Every Leaf Floats

Not every leaf floats freely.
Some may stop to rest.
Other things dress the woods
with sounds, scents and movement.
Farther into the forest,
these feet will not fear,
a long run back out.
I feel safer
closer to the car.
My enough is all right,
for an autumn walk, a stop, look,
ponder how the animals
do without the pond full.
My thoughts are building up
like the leaves on the ground,
colored with change, encouraged
by this is where we
are meant to be.

October 2021

Not posting poems means that no poems are posted. Lines are still written. Stanzas still grumbled and tumble from my imagination. Years are smoother only in places. Much like the mud in a shallow pond near dry from lack of rain, words like animals humpf and sigh for the interruption is a bother, a displacement of things we are meant to have, to experience. I believe during the time away from posting, I’ve found a way to not end up thinking about food and forest when I’m writing. I’ll research if other poets have a subject that bugs them like the cat walking on the keyboard at the moment when things are going well. Do they feel the writer’s energy? Want to be around the positive vibe? My food issue isn’t a cat. If it was.

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