november, dia de los muertos

Everybody’s gone away.
They think there’s nothing left to see.
The garish colors’ flashy show is over.
Now those of us who stay
hunker down in sweet silence,
blessed emptiness among

red-orange shadblow
purple-red blueberry
copper-brown beech
gold tamarack, a few
remaining pale yellow
popple leaves,
sedge and fern in shades
from beige to darkening red
to brown to almost black,
and all this in front of, below,
among blue-green spruce and fir
and white pine,

all of it under gray skies,
chill air, all of us waiting
in the somber dank and rain,
waiting here in quiet, chill
November,
waiting for the snow.

~ The Fall Almost Nobody Sees, by David Budbill

As it gets colder, the trees get bare, Giles sees his first snow, I think about death and life and cycles. Bringing pain into joy, carrying both. You can see a lot further around here when the leaves are gone, and it’s comforting. Beautiful in an introspective kind of way. Lonely. But good lonely. Greys on greys on greys.

I miss my mom. I dress Giles in a skeleton outfit. I wear all my skeleton clothes and jewelry.  I think about how my bones are different now after pregnancy and labor– my ribcage is wider, my hipbone too, my foot bones longer and flatter. Last year Giles’ bones grew inside me. Greg and I make sugar cookies decorated like skulls and we eat too many. I make an altar in my art studio.

She walks these hills
in a long black veil

unnamed

 

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