A LATE OCTOBER AFTERNOON Glaring sunlight blasts in the upper corner of the French swing-out window above her desk. Most of the leaves have dropped from the honey locust and oak, the filter they provided gone. She sees everything in the harsh reality of this white-hot fire and it hurts to look, like seeing a once perfect young face permanently covered with fine lines and webs  of wrinkles that act as a mute map of time, recording her former golden brilliance, the story  of her life etched with the geometry of years. *comments welcome  "seeing a once perfect young face permanently covered with fine lines and webs of wrinkles that act as a mute map of time, recording her former blazing brilliance, the story of her long life saved in skin. like seeing a face once smooth as marbleupon a face once smooth as marble, now etched with the geometry of years The radiant geometry of her youth has given way to a landscape of lines—a map of moments where the story of a long life remain...

SHE She feels like she’s disappearing inside her own life. She apologizes for everything: for laughing too loudly, for talking too much, for complaining about her constant pain. Just taking up space feels wrong. She’s learned that no one cares anymore. Her parents and siblings are gone; there's no one left to tell. More importantly, there's no one left to care. She's too old to start over. Too sick, too infirm to manage getting around. No car, no money, no life; she's become someone she's never been before. She's not sure how it will end. That's not true, she understands the end is death.  She just doesn't know what will happen  between now and then. And that worries her, a lot. She feels like she’s disappearing inside her own life. She apologizes for everything - for laughing too loudly, for talking too much, for complaining about her constant pain. Just taking up space feels wrong. She’s learned that no one cares anymore. Her parents and siblings are g...

259. LAST NIGHT I had a stand-off with a spider the size of a half dollar and a two-inch centipede. This happened in the night-light-lit-dark of our bathroom, where I'd gone to get a drink of water to wash down a pair of red-coated acetaminophen. I'm usually brave, an expert squasher of bugs, but last night I whimpered, waking my husband . Lacking the stamina for violence, I chose diplomacy. I bargained with the centipede: if he promised to eat all future spiders, he could live rent-free. He didn't say no, so I headed back to bed. Under the covers now, I wait and watch to see if that creepy crawly keeps his end of our bargain. *comments welcome LAST NIGHT  I had a stand-off with a spider the size of a half dollar and a two-inch centipede. This happened in the night-light-lit-dark of our bathroom, where I'd gone to get a drink of water to wash down a pair of red-coated acetaminophen. I'm usually brave, an expert squasher of bugs, but last night I whimpered, pulling m...

 258. sparkle of street lights grid of brightly lit windows night-time on my block *comments welcome

258.  from the hall window I consider the North Star make a wish for peace

  257. In the spirit of the Nat King Cole Trio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hph8xZTq2ZY LA-DI-DA, DI-DA-DI-DUM, OCTOBER Black wrought iron furniture, lacy with scrollwork, is now neatly stored in their cluttered garage for another winter. The garden gnome a much younger son Tom gave his father, has been put on a shelf. Hoses, freshly drained and coiled, plus sprinkler and garden tools, go on the shelf next to the gnome. Outside water has been shut off so it won't freeze and break pipes. The Heller Brothers will come in a few weeks; it's their job to rake up the leaves in preparation for the cold weather to come. There should still be enough leaf cover to make the bumblebee queens,  moth cocoons and butterfly chrysalides happy. The worst job of all involves the very large, very heavy, awkward wooden storm windows that have never fit properly in the 49 years we've lived here. They must be hung on the porch plus the screens taken down and stacked in the garage until the ma...

256. ETERNITY IN A DRAWER A branch of dark gray willow, rind rough and furrowed, tap-taps against the window. Late season flower petals fall, litter the ground in the ambering light. The phone rings once, twice, the sound anxious and stinging. She feels things shifting and  resettling. Autumn waits impatiently,  months swiftly vanishing until,  blissfully ignorant, the new year  arrives in all its neonate splendor. Deterred for now, eternity hides  away in a bottom dresser drawer. *comments welcome

256.   IT'S ALL GRAY Alone at my desk,  I stare out the window, watch two gray squirrels run up the oak tree, round and round against rough gray bark. Rain drops splotch the glass, patter loudly in the gutter, swirl into the downspout. No black or white, only gray sky, gray day, gray me. *comments welcome

  255. DRIVING TO SIBERIA A sufficiency of living gleams in her pale blue eyes, old virtues fluttering. She prepares to write, ideas popping like soapy bubbles. A wondrous variety of choices explode,  then her train of thought is interrupted, again. Words are lost almost as soon  as she finds them. Feeling old, she won't know who she is until she gets there. *comments welcome

  254. FOR KATIE Let me come back as bird song at break of day, flower petals floating on fresh summer breezes, tumbling maple leaves, blown by cool autumn winds, delicate snowflakes crowding the chilled air. Let me be all of them, with you still, the way I’ve always been. Just think of me, close your eyes, rest in the moment, and I’ll be there, loving you forever. *comments welcome

253. WHEN NIGHT BECOMES DAY The early sky wakes, stretches luxuriously in a robe of pale pink salmon, glows brighter as puffy clouds  appear against the blank palette  of dawn, blushing peach and coral. The early breeze calms and warm colors vanish into the blue as the sky awaits its  main attraction. *comments welcome

252.  FROST WARNING TONIGHT The sweltering afternoons of summer have slipped into lingering  autumn nights and chilly mornings, the last of the purple phlox blooms beside the footpath, sumac and sugar maple  flame scarlet and gold along the River Road and the homeless man, who lived at the park bench near Eustis Street the whole month of August  and part of September, has packed his small sack of belongings and moved on. *comments welcome NOTES: No frost warnings yet. Poetic license, I guess!

against darkest night  the streetlight's yellow-eyed glare stands as watchman

250.  showy leaves scatter autumn flaunts her new wardrobe earth puts on a show *comments welcome

Honey locust leaves  transition to brightest gold, then drop for winter. You don’t make honey from the Honey Locust but the seeds do taste sweet *comments welcome Mighty oaks still green, but not for much longer, soon evolve to dull yellow.

A WONDROUS SIGHT The sky's a clear, clean blue, the most remarkably perfect  blue sky I've ever seen - and it's outside my window right this minute! Up near the treetops,  dark green  leafy tips turn yellow and gold  on the oak and honey locust, flutter and sparkle in the soft breezes against rough, chestnut brown bark. It's all so beautiful I could cry. There's incredible joy filling me, right up to my ears. I do so love the fall. *comments welcome The sky's a clean, clear blue, the most remarkable blue sky I've ever seen and it's right outside  my window. Near a treetop, dark green leaf tips begin  to turn yellow and gold on the honey locust and oak,  flutter and sparkle against  rough, chestnut brown bark. It's all so beautiful I could cry.  There's incredible joy  filling me right up to my ears.

  249.  wild staccato raindrops spill down from a sky the color of wet tin MONOKU: A minimalist style of poetry written as a single horizontal line.                                Typically has 17 syllables or fewer, can be about any topic.                                      Little to no punctuation, starts with a lower case letter. First attempt. 

 248. PAMPLEMOUSSE Scanning the Shipt grocery app she searches for sparkling water, comes across LaCroix Pamplemousse, looks askance. She, who didn't make it past the first week of French class because she was also taking Latin, then promptly dropped both for Spanish, doesn't know LaCroix pamplemousse  is French for grapefruit flavored sparkling water. C'est parfaitement parfait. *comments welcome casts a dubious glance, thinks pamplehusss,

247. MONDAY BRUNCH We set out sunshiny yellow  placemats,  blue & white Spode  dishes,  bagels with creamy cheese,  mini scones tart with bits of  cranberry & orange , glossy red grapes and OJ.  We haven't seen them  for almost two years .  They came for brunch   on their way through town.  My husband's baby brother  and our sister-in-law.  Lots of laughter,  lots of love.  My heart is happy. *comments welcome NOTE: POETRY: to express deep human emotions, ideas, and experiences through the artistic use of rhythm, sound, and imagery. Unlike everyday speech, a poem uses creative language to make us feel, think, and see the world in a new way.  They don't live here anymore. We haven't seen them  for almost 2 years. They came for brunch this morning on their way through town. We set out the  bright yellow placemats with the blue & white dishes. Mini bagels and mini scones, grapes and OJ. My...

246. She felt it yesterday, a whisper of fall in the cottonwoods on the corner. Leaves fluttered and sparkled, shimmering sequins in the late summer sun. Mast year for the backyard oaks,  acorns pattered down by the hundreds. Today became tomorrow the future rushed  to meet her, she refused to be left behind. *comments welcome Not yet, she pleaded She felt it yesterday, a whisper of fall in the cottonwoods on the corner. Leaves fluttered and sparkled, shimmering sequins in the late summer sun. Mast year for her backyard oak, acorns pattered down by the hundreds. Tomorrow's changing, she won't be left behind. Tomorrow's changing, she won't be left behind. Not yet, she pleaded She felt it yesterday, whisper of fall in the cottonwoods on the corner, leaves fluttered and sparkled, shimmering sequins. sun pennies on the lake of my childhood. Mast year, acorns pattering down by the thousands. Tomorrow's changing