Well-played, September

Well-played, September

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the dappled light on the hill crafts bouquets of yellow blossoms where the grass has already faded with the coming fall

this shrinking arc of day makes the jeweled promise of the morning last longer, sparkling through the leaves, instead of trumpeting overhead–insisting, demanding, expecting

the sun’s retreat also lends heat to the outdoor shower, warming the stones under foot, once cool in the deep shade of the canopy

a tiny, non-threatening, almost adorable, miniature-maple-leaf greets me on the path; the color red softened by the fading heart at its center

well played, September

today is the anniversary of my mother’s sobriety, and the beginning of our last week with her, 15 years ago

i’ve just learned of wayne dyer’s passing, a teacher whose work my mother introduced me to at her diningroom table where she imparted a (shortened) lifetime of hard-earned wisdom with the soft light and gentle hue of her soul

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