it is morning
in the dark of
autumn
the house is stirring
footsteps
creaking
floorboards
shifting
on the floor above me in the
duplex
the anchors chatter on the
television
one week before the election of a
new president
the fear and
uncertainty is palpable
like a blanket of fog in the psalmist’s
valley
my lady and I talking about our
changing lives
she talks to the cat, sitting behind
me
just as much as to
me
outside the window
the maples have dropped their
leaves
like a great
golden gown
to adorn the flower beds
the rising sun is promised
to shine all-day
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