In this wet and windy weather, it’s lucky the neighbor’s fir trees haven’t blown over and landed on our house. Day by day, the yard and roof are strewn with more branches. New gaps and sky-patches have appeared in the trees, which allow the wind to pass through them, and keep the trees from having to absorb its full impact. And as I gaze up at them and listen to the roar, I wonder how many times I have undergone this same process. For I know that if I hadn’t, I would not still be standing, my thoughts and misconceptions being so dense and ill at odds that light shone only around the edges and warmed the newest tender growth. Now the thoughts are fewer, and some, at least, have the appearance of being more sound. This does not mean, however, that the main organism isn’t harboring decay and rot, and that one day soon, finding me toppled, someone might say, He was blown over by a guess.
November 18, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Aging, Diaries, Fall, Firs, Gratitude, Journals, November, Thoughts, Wind