Late November pushes against each branch and shadow
hustling along the clinging leaves and broken spider webs,
sweeping with a broad broom of chill and stinging wind
the last memories of autumn’s crisp intoxication.
Ah. The fertile land exhales slowly, quieting itself
as if, injured, it seeks a healing and drowsy sleep.
I must go with it into darkness, for all my soul,
as autumn takes it’s leave and winter’s night draws near.
Portland, Oregon – November 26, 2017
Between the sun and the night –
the shimmering moon.
Stringing beads of darkness together
it threads its way through the heavens
leaving in its silent wake
a trail that souls use to find their way.
Portland, Oregon – November 15, 2017
He was the oldest of us four.
Not long ago he died. He is no more.
He wanders now in the company of the dead
who have made their way to the shadow lands
where they know the reach of our love, our loss, our dread.
This night they walk through my thoughts,
those who have died, who found their way
on such paths as they chose –
to laugh and live, to love and forgive;
or, over roads they felt obliged to choose,
whose bidding they could not refuse
through need or greed, fame or shame.
However it was for them, they took one more step
and, thinking of their last breath,
took their last breath
while holding the hand of a loved one
or, alone, felt loneliness rise up as in waves
of despair or longing unfulfilled.
Either way, in their last moments they let go
of their precious and only life
for nothing else remained for them to do.
Goodbye and fare-thee-well, you souls.
Goodbye and fare-thee-well, my brother.
Portland, Oregon – November 1, 2017, Eve of the feast of All Souls.
In Cascadia 