The haunt of autumn seems so close to home that whisky ghosts of dying summer breeze now tickle heat and steal away with cold and, playful, bear their laughter through the trees. – It seems a world more sharper than the light opens up amid the falling leaves— a sound like crunch! And snapping crunkled […]Read more "Autumn Wind"
I wonder sometimes after wind blows through the trees, racing with the leaves, playing with the branches. I wonder—did the trees know the wind was there? Did the wind know she was not seen? […]Read more "Invisible"
Spring Time loves the South and cannot stay away. He notes how winter hesitates before the hills that rise gently into mountains, garbed deciduously grey, where branches made to be adorned—by leaves or snowflakes one— In breezes neither warm nor cold, can only sadly sway. As winter frets to stain her white, majestic dress on […]Read more "On a February Day"
False virtue boasts undying constancy, entrenching roots in soil she did not test. She lifts her shield against the burning sun and shoots her views like arrows from behind the walls that stand against all diff’ring thought. But were not minds designed to grow like trees? To stand as strengthened by the light of truth? […]Read more "On Changing Minds"