alone again
in my kitchen
it's hard to believe
Thanksgiving
is over;
but in truth,
thanksgiving
goes on
because every day
brings reason
to praise
and give thanks

how is it possible,
to be worthy
of this abundance
of blessings

how is it possible,
to be worthy
of each
lovely
breath?

no more left-overs
another successful feast:
family intact

giving thanks for an
abundance of everything
blessed beyond my worth

as long as roses
are blooming, rich with color,
winter is at bay

I am about to
become an organ donor
a gift of life/a gift of music

my preparations
have less to do with turkey,
more to do with fixing

Then, after the rain,
we blink and stretch and come out,
no longer thirsty

scarlet, golden, moss and brown
all the leaves are falling down

"ornamental kale"
seems like an oxymoron.
edible? really?

clouds today floated
through the sky, clumps of puffballs,
headed towards home

birches are rare here
but they remind me of where
it all started

Awash in a sea
of bluebells, time stopped and peace
became tangible.

complicated makes
my head hurt. I seek clean lines,
unobstructed views

In spite of the odds
I can keep dreaming
of hearing the waves
from my open windows
and seeing the Pacific Ocean
from the carport,
but it's just traffic I hear
on a long length of cement
that is the street I live on.

But I can keep dreaming.

nice and pat, with no
unravelling, but life just
isn't so flawless

temps drop below freezing outside,
sparkly frost on the leaves
and on the tips of grass

I lie in bed beneath
a heavy pile of warmth,
dreaming of the next quilt
I'll start when morning comes

when my mother was
my age, she had already
lost her mom and dad

I don't ever want
to be an orphan

but is that all there
really is to it? Maybe
it's still in progress?

no stitching, no paints,
and no photo could do this
November justice

simple components,
fairly straightforward design
great composition

gallery-hopping
in Chelsea with my daughter
we came across something
and I had no idea what to make
of it, whether to be amused
or to look deeper,
whether to laugh or cry.

I just shrugged,
taking a closer look,
and remained confused,
no, baffled

THIS is what I want to do,
said my girl,
eyes twinkling,
arms opening to the array
in a huge dramatic "voila"

and that's when I wanted to cry
not because of all of the paper
towel rolls, plastic containers,
cardboard, paper, carpet scraps
and other stuff I must continue
to save and find places to store
until she is called to make use
of these treasures,
but I wanted to cry
because of the unlikely places
she finds beauty and genius:
tears of wonder
for my gentle artist
who sees wonder in everyday