Come In!

Spinning, digital photo collage, C. Flores

So I'm continuing on my quest to childlike faith, a joyful faith. My daughter is an inspiration and helps me to remember what faith and joy really look like. Do I believe God really exists, knows me, and even loves me dearly? This is what God said. After all, this kind of faith is the way we actually get to know God and meet Him as he truly is - our Father.

Please take a second look, peer into the garden, crack open the Book one more time... before you make up your mind that there isn't anyone there.

::
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. - Matthew 7:7

What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived — the things God has prepared for those who love him.
- 1 Corinthians 2:9

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”
- Luke 18:16-17

::

Here You Are

My little spirit spins with you -
oh how you make me dance,
but I must look only silly,
like a little girl twirling,
singing songs no one understands.

Why can't they see you,
oh my constant friend?
Have they stopped seeing,
stopped their singing,
like children too old to pretend?

But here you are where you've always been,
waiting for your children to come running in,

singing and dancing and clapping their hands,
for their father, their brother, the Son of Man,

dressed in love, grace and hymns from Heaven
into this most lovely and eternal garden of Eden.
::



 

Sweet Spring!

The Flowers Jessie Willcox-Smith

You sprinkle the day with light
like a confectioner with sugar
your sweet melodies birds recite
and the blossoms your fingers uncover.

What is this array
but a bouquet of your arranging?
What is the soft form of my heart
but a confection or your own shaping?

This your menagerie of living things
too delicate to last and too pretty to eat,
but yet a shame not to savor
delicacies so sweet...

from poem The Sweetness of Promise

...


It is a land the Lord your God cares for; the eyes of the Lord your God are continually on it from the beginning of the year to its end. So if you faithfully obey the commands I am giving you today—to love the Lord your God and to serve him with all your heart and with all your soul—  then I will send rain on your land in its season, both autumn and spring rains, so that you may gather in your grain, new wine and olive oil. I will provide grass in the fields for your cattle, and you will eat and be satisfied.

Deuteronomy 11:12-15  NIV





 

Happy As Kings

Gyo Fujikawa, The Little Land

Happy Thought

The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

- Robert Louis Stevenson from A Child's Garden of Verses

I love the simplicity of this short poem. Stevenson wrote so many wonderful poems to the sensibility of a child. My friend, Nancy Dauterman, first introduced me to Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verses when I helped teach in her Kindergarten classroom. Those poems and her sweet Kindergarten class were instrumental in reuniting me with my own child heart. I highly recommend this book to all children and their parents. The illustration here is from my daughter's own copy illustrated by Gyo Fujikawa. It's wonderful.

I can't help but find a parallel between Stevenson's words and the way God calls us his children, while also calling us heirs to his own kingdom. Is that amazing? God himself has written to us as a father writes to his own children, hoping we'll read as the very children he knew, trusting and seeking - all the while pouring out his unexplainable blessing around us - as we pass by unaware.

Wake up little children! Let's be kings again!


This is my version.

Afternoon

I strolled the afternoon
like a child through a mansion.
I peered down burnished avenues
like corridors flocked and brassen.

I reveled in every jewel I found
like an orphan playing a prince,
as if every silvery sight and sound
was sealed in my inheritance.

I skipped through tree-lined vaults
laden with tender gold medallions,
knowing the treasures here where I walk
are stored forever in Heaven by the thousands.

::

For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.

Romans 1:20

::

Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.

Romans 8:17-21

Warriors of Light

Warrior of Light, Christiane Flores 2015

My dear brothers and sisters...

Stand your ground, putting on the belt of truth and the body armor of God’s righteousness. For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the Good News so that you will be fully prepared. In addition to all of these, hold up the shield of faith to stop the fiery arrows of the devil. Put on salvation as your helmet, and take the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
Ephesians 6:14-17

Jesus spoke to the people once more and said, “I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won’t have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life.”
John 8:12

::

Warrior of Light

Golden warrior,
at the foot of an ashen fortress,
you are a flame
waging light into an abyss.

Your glowing wake
brands a narrow path,
through long shadows
of towers lost and rivers black.

You blaze a plated shield
forged in light and faith,
and flanked on your shoulders
are wings cast in fate.

Your aureate armor
submerged in soot and mire,
never bares mar or tarnish
but purification by fire.

Your guide is a fiery sword
blazing into the night,
and your heart, carved in ore
weighs the lives lost from light.

What hearts will you ignite
as embers from the dark debris?
What stray children of your king
will you uncover and set free?

Rise and Shine

This Little Light, Christiane Flores 2015

This Year

This year I decided not to give up our Christmas tree

and pack up all its splendor into a box.

Instead I thought it might be worth keeping

such a lovely thing shining on.

So I found a lampstand more worthy of its light
a hilltop better fitting its rich display
and not always found by earthly sight,
but burning in hearts night and day.

And so it became adorned,
a life like a humble evergreen,
with hands outspread to be warmed
by the light of love they were bearing.

Words were like ornaments to hang
sparkling with joy and sweetness
ringing little songs that faithful shepherds sang
celebrating God's power and meekness.

Happy new year to you, my dear
the child who knew there had to be
some way to have Christmas each day of the year,
a life lit up like a Christmas tree.

::

“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."
Matthew 5:14 

“Arise, shine, for your light has come,
    and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.
See, darkness covers the earth
    and thick darkness is over the peoples,
but the Lord rises upon you
    and his glory appears over you.
Nations will come to your light,
    and kings to the brightness of your dawn.
Isaiah 60:1-3 

Season of the Dreamer

I'm sure most of us notice the signs of the coming season - some more than others - depending on where we live. Here in California, it's the season that's just beginning to peak through the clouds and reveal its spindly branches. It's not the Christmas or Holiday season, though that is its shining feature. It's the season of Winter and all that it carries with it. I saw a sky like this one pictured, a few Winters ago, and it caused me to notice other beautiful new things all around me. More than the clouds taking shape in the sky, I saw that nature was starting to change its own decor the way we deck our halls. Around here one has to look for these changes a little more closely. It's subtle. It doesn't come pouring down from Heaven in snowy white splendor. 

This is a special time of year in which so many cultures celebrate light. How fitting. We miss those long bright days on the darkest ones. Now that we're almost upon that shortest and darkest day of the year, I think it's good to think about the metaphor we are presented with. (The sun is down by 5 o'clock now. So we have the time.) We experience this cycle of life in every stage: night and day, Summer and Winter, life and death, waking and sleeping. So here were are in the evening, knowing that morning is on the other side of the hill and Spring is around the corner. Let's light some candles, sing a lullaby or a Christmas carol, and watch the lights twinkle upon the trees. 

We must then remember that we're not the ones changing out these decorations, or making the sun go up or down. We are a special feature in this scenery, spectators to a majesty we cannot conceive, the objects of a creator's dream. It's just too beautiful and orderly for me to think of it any other way. Let's enjoy this season in humble wonder, as we are the dear children being tucked into bed. I hope that when we close our eyes, we can all rest assured that we know the one watching over us.

Dream of Winter

Rippled opaline sky,
burning with silver,
we are painted you and I,
by the One who dreamed of Winter.

Chiseled amethyst limbs,
brushed with sterling,
we are painted by His sky,
in the low color of seasons turning.

Dappled jet lane,
gilded with light,
we are glittered you and I,
by the One slowly dimming the light.

::

"Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better."
- Albert Einstein

"Whoever wants to know something about me – as an artist which alone is significant – they should look attentively at my pictures and there seek to recognize what I am and what I want."
- Gustav Klimt 

"Have you ever commanded the morning to appear
    and caused the dawn to rise in the east?
Have you made daylight spread to the ends of the earth,
    to bring an end to the night’s wickedness?
As the light approaches,
    the earth takes shape like clay pressed beneath a seal;
    it is robed in brilliant colors."
- God to Job, Job 12-14 

“Where does light come from,
    and where does darkness go?
Can you take each to its home?
    Do you know how to get there?
But of course you know all this!
For you were born before it was all created,
    and you are so very experienced!"
“Have you visited the storehouses of the snow
    or seen the storehouses of hail?
²³ (I have reserved them as weapons for the time of trouble,
    for the day of battle and war.)
²⁴ Where is the path to the source of light?
    Where is the home of the east wind?"
- God to Job, Job 19-24 

In peace I will lie down and sleep,
    for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe."
- Psalm 4:8

Your Gift To Bring

Little Drummer Boy 2009 Jon Baldwin Art

What do our lives spell out - for the people around us, for the generations that will remember us? Do they spell out something that can reach beyond us and make a difference in those lives? Our lives, especially when summed up at the end, will be a tribute to something, to someone - an accomplishment, a contribution, a cause, a God.

Maybe you feel you have nothing to contribute. Well, maybe this will help. I volunteered to sing with some other women at an event at church. Before the event, I was a little bit of a wreck. Upon expressing how insecure I was about my abilities, my friend Sue, replied, "Just think of the Little Drummer Boy." That helped me. So no matter how meager, this is "my gift to bring".

What is your gift to bring? What is your tribute? And who is it to?

::

My Tribute

This is my cathedral,
scribbled lines like climbing spires,
crying out like a mouth of marble,
dear Lord, hear our prayers.

This is my cry in the wilderness,
a love letter like an echo,
a messenger in the darkness,
dying before it will let go.

This is my sacrifice,
a song like a broken heart,
praising God in the highest,
from a wrinkled paper altar.

::

tribute
- a gift, testimonial, compliment, or the like, given as due or in acknowledgment of gratitude or esteem.
 

The Sweet Harvest

First Picasso, now Van Gogh. I know. But they're famous for a reason. I read that this amazing piece was painted toward the end of Van Gogh's life, as he looked at death more closely. I always hoped that he was looking at this wheat field, at the final harvest, so to speak, through the parables of Jesus. I also read that he knew those parables. That's encouraging to me, but what a burden of work he had built up by the end of his life. I hope he had a place to lay that burden down and know his life's work would not be for nothing.

We all hope to see the fruit of our labor. But all the things we work so hard for will one day be gone, as will we, unless what we sow is seed sown into a higher field, a greater kingdom, a place that never fades away, a place that receives its harvest like a mother receives her children. Do you ever just feel like going home? Well, let's go. And let's tell everyone where we're going, shining with hope, like children who miss their home. Let's overflow the mighty and loving arms of the God who first sowed us in the fruitful earth.

Power and Light

Small bud of wheat,
you sway glowing among a million,
a bulb of light and heat,
to highlight the hillside kingdom.

Your purpose is forever sweet,
even into the night,
by the rays of a lowering sun,
kissing you golden
with life.

::


Jesus also said, “The Kingdom of God is like a farmer who scatters seed on the ground.  Night and day, while he’s asleep or awake, the seed sprouts and grows, but he does not understand how it happens.  The earth produces the crops on its own. First a leaf blade pushes through, then the heads of wheat are formed, and finally the grain ripens.  And as soon as the grain is ready, the farmer comes and harvests it with a sickle, for the harvest time has come.”
- Mark 4:26-29 NLT

Day

This Is The Day

You are the Morning Star,
the true light of the whole world,
yet within my shadowy little soul,
my four walls and a window,
you are the gentle light falling in,
spreading slowly along the corners,
highlighting the shapes of things,
casting a merciful light upon me,
I need only pull back the shade,
let in the light of your day,
and be glad
in the new life you have made.

::

This is the day the Lord has made.
    We will rejoice and be glad in it.
Please, Lord, please save us.
    Please, Lord, please give us success. 
Bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
    We bless you from the house of the Lord. 
The Lord is God, shining upon us.
    Take the sacrifice and bind it with cords on the altar. 
You are my God, and I will praise you!
    You are my God, and I will exalt you!

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good!
    His faithful love endures forever.

- Psalm 118:24-29

But you aren’t in the dark about these things, dear brothers and sisters, and you won’t be surprised when the day of the Lord comes like a thief. For you are all children of the light and of the day; we don’t belong to darkness and night. So be on your guard, not asleep like the others. Stay alert and be clearheaded.

- 1 Thessalonians 5:4-7 

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end; 
they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

- Lamentations 3:22-23 

Write Your Name In The Air

In this interesting post I found, Light Writing With Picasso, by Jared Ragland, we're given a little peak into the revolutionary work of photographer, Gjon Mili, and an artist named Pablo Picasso, from 1949. These photographs inspire me and draw their own burning question within me -

Pablo Picasso light drawing. Photo by Gjon Mili.

Who is taking our picture? These photos of Pablo Picasso creating art with a little flashlight have always amazed me. But unlike the beautiful image that gets burned into that film or ultimately read into a hard drive, where do we find the man behind it now? We make our mark in this world, but for what, for who, and for how long? I hope when you smile for your picture, when you sign your name upon the fading page of your life, that you will know the name of the Photographer, your Keeper, the Name above all other names. Philippians 2:9,10

Smile

Write your name in the sand,
little man.
Write your name in the sand.
Spin your sparkler in the air.
Make your art blaze -
then disappear.
You’ll be blessed if you capture
what Picasso could.
We’ll be blessed if we get captured.
The air always swallows up the light.
The tide sweeps in like the night.
Flash your face to the sky,
little child,
and smile.

::

How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.
- James 4:14

What is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?
You have made them a little lower than the angels and crowned them
with glory and honor.You made them rulers over the works of your hands;
- Psalm 8:4-6

Dear November

Life is short. Play in the leaves...

Oh November,
how you swung me off to bed,
swirled me softly
like a furled leaf falling,
then tossed me to the quilt & said,
"Dance with me
until it's too dark to see.
Grow old, red and gold with me,
in a sea of leaves,
up to our knees,
and I'll give you Winter
to rest your head."

Take Heart

Take heart,
little corner of the world,
tiny window in the night.
Save your dreams
beneath your pillow
and your faith
in a heart small and bright.

::

I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.

- Jesus,  John 16:33

The Psalm of Our Hearts

Do you remember someone singing to you when you were small? I am so blessed with memories of my mother singing me to sleep at night. I still know the lullabies she sang to me. Does your heart know its Psalmist? Does it know the love that is its eternal fortress? King David knew the sweet songs of his father in the solitude of grazing pastures. This life is fading away, but I believe what the writers and singers of the Psalms believed, what poets like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow believed. There is a love, a song, that endures the passing of life, and a father who never forgets his little ones.

I originally began writing this poem for my daughter when she started growing out of my lap, but I soon realized it was more a poem about me, and all of us, growing out of the lap of God.

When You Were Small

When you were small,
when your whole belly fit inside my palm,
when your home was in my lap,
and my arms were your refuge,
and your little crown of curls
fit perfectly beneath my chin,
oh child dearly loved,
I knew no garden,
no kingdom,
no embrace
could keep you in.
So I had to let you go
and go you did.
But just return to me,
call for me,
and I will hear.
I’ll reach for you,
I’ll die for you,
I’ll make the world disappear.
Fall into my arms
even as you die,
and know my love,
everlasting,
like your first lullaby.

::

God is our refuge and strength,
    an ever-present help in trouble. 

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, 

though its waters roar and foam
    and the mountains quake with their surging.

...The Lord Almighty is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress. 

- Psalm 46:1-3,7

...I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!

- The Children's Hour, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

My Hand Upon My Mouth

If you're at all like me, you have a wavering self-image that sways from one extreme to another, depending on your circumstance and surroundings. One day you're unique and special to the point of egotism, and another day, shaken to reality to the point of believing you're no more than a speck on the map, a brick in the wall. We just can't see clearly. We can't see ourselves within the scope of the whole world, let alone God's universe. 

I love that as we waver, as we float in and out of the picture, one man stands there, the same, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And not only is he standing there, but he made everything on which you stand, on which you place all your trust. If you doubt it, just ask him.

Or read the book of Job. Wow. I'm thankful for our pastor's message on Job yesterday. Like he said, it's like jumping into the deep end of the Bible. But I can't wait for Psalms. I think that book is going to feel like God's strong right arm pulling me out of the deep water. As it should, right?
You can listen to what my pastor, Tim Theule, had to say about it here.

My own words are here about what God had to say to Job. The words were heavy on my heart. And the irony of it isn't lost on me.

My Hand Upon My Mouth 

Let me place my hand upon my mouth
like a little stone upon my grave
and let it read
no thing about me
but only the life that you gave.

Let me place my hand in your hand
like the little child you dearly love
and let me say
nothing, and stay
in the presence of my dear Lord.

::

“Behold, I am insignificant; what can I reply to You?
I lay my hand on my mouth.
“Once I have spoken, and I will not answer;
Even twice, and I will add nothing more.”

- Job 40:4-5

Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

- Psalm 23:6 

Untangle Me

In your life, do you ever feel like you're trying to untie a knot? My favorite is the tiny knot on the chain of a necklace. It requires an amazing amount of focus and patience, and I always consider just leaving it... But something in me usually perseveres and I find a line that seems to pull free and start the whole thing unraveling. This week, I felt like I was that little knot and God was my patient and persevering savior - patiently undoing my tangled mess of thoughts, tasks, and worries. Thank you, my Rescuer...

Untangle me,
pull my loops that undo,
find some straight line in me,
unwind it,
unbind me,
pull me through.
Then lay me down,
drape me around,
your strong neck,
and hang me true.

::

The Lord is close to all who call on him,
    yes, to all who call on him in truth. 
He grants the desires of those who fear him;
    he hears their cries for help and rescues them.
 
- Psalm 145:18-19

The Long Lost Love

I wanted to make a list of all the lost things,
a catalog of details, dedications, and perfect leaves.
The bees humming, blankets rustling, feathers ruffling in the trees,
the shadows, shape, and silhouette,
warm hands, soft laughs, and ways we forget,
the days that danced before they laid down to rest.

Oh, but what will become of your precious gaze?
I'll do my best to hold it with the words I can save,
but, oh my dear, you will die upon this page.
Your eyes of amber that so captured me,
the depth of your heart and the strength of its beat
leave only a ghost print - still, grey, and weak.

So please, let me take you and keep you,
let me paint you brightly upon my heart,
let your arms burn around me like the first day,
before the last day draws them apart.

Let me love you like my long lost love,
who vanishes on the voyage at sea,
all the while keeping lit within my breast
the love that first drew you to me.

Quiet Please

Do you know the still small voice of your God? Have you taken the time to just think about him, talk to him? Life in this world will clutter us and drown us in to-do lists if we don't sweep off a space for what's eternally real and true. Now don't just listen to any voice, especially your own. The steady eternal truth comes out of written words that have not wavered for thousands of years. You were born with a word, with a command of life. Find your way back to the one who spoke it.

I used to have afternoons,
hours of thoughts like pages strewn,
long and quiet talks - with you.  
Now it seems I only pass these rooms,
layering the hallway with a longing tune,
"I'm coming, I'm coming," but Lord, you are, too.  
Oh come - and stop me in these tracks,
show me the quiet and narrow way back,

along the pages you first spoke through.


I found this scripture below about Elijah the prophet, who heard God's voice. I like how in the midst of fear and chaos and exhaustion, Elijah heard God's quiet whisper while hiding away in a secluded cave. God spoke to him, gave him direction, and told him to go back to the work He had for him. Read the whole story if you can. There's a lot more to it. It's amazing.

When Elijah heard the quiet voice, he muffled his face with his great cloak, went to the mouth of the cave, and stood there. A quiet voice asked, “So Elijah, now tell me, what are you doing here?” Elijah said it again, “I’ve been working my heart out for God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies, because the people of Israel have abandoned your covenant, destroyed your places of worship, and murdered your prophets. I’m the only one left, and now they’re trying to kill me.”
God said, “Go back the way you came through the desert to Damascus. 

- 1 Kings 19:13-14  The Message Bible

Unintended Ode to the Unknown God

Unintended Ode to the Unknown God

The force of humanity
was a press from his fingertip,
a breath through his lips,
and here we are, alive,
without understanding why.
Isn't that just like us,
to have it,
and have it wrong?
- passing the very face of God each day,
mistaking it for our own reflection,
walking in his elegance,
speaking his words after him,
as if our own thoughts.
What do you see in the formula,
if not the genius of the mathematician?
What do you hear in the masterpiece,
but the heart of its own musician?
Oh how we miss you,
your long lost children,
and can't even remember your likeness.
But with our own little hands,
we've been trying to piece together
an assemblage of your loving face,
like trying to recall a lullaby long forgotten.
But, God save us,
nothing we make looks back at us,
or hears the longing of our hearts,
or speaks the soft words we yearn to hear.
They do things very similar,
but nothing outside our handwritten plans.
They are every kind of wonderful version of you,
all except the one.
What a magnificent menagerie we've made,
an unintended ode to the unknown god,
spinning like a mobile around our heads,
soothing us to sleep each night,
in place of the one we so dearly miss.

::

The apostle Paul makes this plea to the high council in Athens -

...for as I was walking along I saw your many shrines. And one of your altars had this inscription on it: ‘To an Unknown God.’ This God, whom you worship without knowing, is the one I’m telling you about.
“He is the God who made the world and everything in it. Since he is Lord of heaven and earth, he doesn’t live in man-made temples, and human hands can’t serve his needs—for he has no needs. He himself gives life and breath to everything, and he satisfies every need. From one man he created all the nations throughout the whole earth. He decided beforehand when they should rise and fall, and he determined their boundaries.
“His purpose was for the nations to seek after God and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him—though he is not far from any one of us. For in him we live and move and exist. As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are his offspring.’

- Acts 17:23-28

The Secret Admirer

We all have a loving admirer. We long for this love for a reason. We were made for it and for a world more lovely than this one. This life can only deliver the promise. Find out who your true admirer is. 

He's waiting for you.


The Secret Admirer

How lovely 
to receive a love letter
or be adored
discreetly from afar.
Dear God,
where is my admirer
or the serenader
with his guitar?

Rest your heart, my dear,
and listen.
My heart sings to you
from leafy balconies.
I throw you flowers
every season,
whispering, "how I love you",
with the breeze.

Be patient, my love,
and wait.
The little children
will carry my letters.
The smiles they deliver
are my own,
for no own knows
my joy better.

Close your eyes, my child,
and believe.
I am sending for you,
just as I've written.
Now follow the narrow path
no one can see,
through the small gate,
into the Kingdom I have hidden.

 

Fashionably Late

Fall usually prefers to be fashionably late in California, just like everyone else here, I guess. Even later along the coast. Of course. When she finally arrives, she'll still get a warm welcome. 

It's fun to talk about. I think most of us have our memories wrapped up in the seasons. It's such a love affair. I know each season has its own special meaning and purpose, but if I may... I think they're like elaborate love letters from God - pouring out his majestic undying love for us. I just enjoy seeing it this way. 

This poem personifies Fall in a slightly different way. But oh, how we love you, Autumn, wherever you are.

Hello, Autumn

Well hello, Autumn, peeking through the lilting limbs.

I see your red-gloved hands swinging in the northern winds.

I remember those golden sleeves from under your cloudy coat,
and you, smiling over a flaxen scarf, reveling in the cold.

Then finally in all your glory, you’re paraded, inciting crowds of adoring trees.
They never do forget you, even after your confetti has been swept from the streets.