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Winter, probably. Nov 18 2017 SG

When winter comes, I feel it in my bones later.

I can tolerate exactly 14 days.

This new introspection of my own reactions to the seasons,

have come about as in my maturity, I can see

past the present moment.


But,

I wonder if using poetry

as a system of tracking my seasons

will prove an exercise in futility.

Since most of what I do

is intuitive.


Oh, there, there. Nothing is ever wasted.

There is always some thing there.


We had to change the lighting in the house today

since the sun has.

Why are we so afraid of change when change is all we've ever known?


Winter, probably.



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