Those could be God’s Fingerprints - Dec. 2, 2022

parallel ridges of dirty clouds

smudged onto this November sky

floating above the grim majesty

of naked trees dotted

with stubborn brown leaves

replacing the colors of summer

with a cold wind emptied of sweetness

in a gloom tinged with gray

the shift moves deeper

sobering images everywhere

yang replaced by yin

in the dearth of light

a kind of surrender

a shift in hope

an abysmal longing

how different the poems

started on fall days