The month of November happened in a flash of a feather. These thirty days always soar by like a bird in flight, in want of nest, but in need of push. Thirty days of flap and wing, and dream of rest.
Words, like birds, were meant for the air, and Novembers I think were meant for both.
There are perfect plastic doves perched on my Christmas tree, and a thoughtful crow across the way who watched me place them with care. I tell a friend I will love any poem if it about pigeons, and in the quiet mornings, I flip my pancakes and think how it is a poem about puffins that first sugared my heart.
The air smells like sugar now.
In the oven is ooey gooey butter cake, something I baked because a friend brought me the idea of it. A handful of fireflies in my comments section leading me to something delicious. The soft lightning of words.
I love how they make a mark.
Day 30 of 30.Best beloveds, thank you for reading along with us.
Peppers, thank you for blogging. It is always an honor to write alongside you.
