On a table in front of me cut stems of lavender lie
that days before grew, rapt within a November sky.
Plait them into the wreaths of December
through branches of pine and cedar to remember
the fullness of spring in clear and washed lights
summer’s warmth in ripples of radiant sun bright
pulling from the lavender it’s sweet scent, lifted,
lingering in a fragrance lost, borne aloft
in wild winds and rain blown waves
breathing as the world on us this day.

Waldport, Oregon – Thanksgiving day, November 22, 2018