The Quiet Season
–—a day when the cold gets bold, and anything you forget outside becomes a small monument to your own distraction. You find…
The Quiet Season
–—the cold is no longer a novelty; it’s a presence pressing against the door frame You pull it from the closet’s hush,where…
The Quiet Season
–—this poem leans into sensory wonder, cold clarity, and the first real acknowledgment that the world has changed overnight It falls without…
Late Fall Brew
–—It belongs to memory We set the table anyway,not out of hope,but out of habit.A plate where laughter used to sit,a glass…
Late Fall Brew
–—a day where the world feels a little unpolished, and the coffee cools faster than the spirit can catch up You didn’t…
Late Fall Brew
–I arrive before the feast,but I’m gone before the prayer.I bring everyone together,yet I’m never actually there. I fill the room with…
Late Fall Brew
–—A quiet midpoint in the month, where the cold starts speaking in full sentences and the world feels suspended between belief and…
Late Fall Brew
–—this poem lives in that liminal space, the practice round, where you rehearse thankfulness the way one rehearses a difficult truth; softly,…
Late Fall Brew
–—this is the day when the house itself starts preparing for winter, wood contracting, vents sighing, radiators clicking like old bones It…
Late Fall Brew
–—this is the day when sweetness feels optional, memory feels edible, and the act of stirring something into your cup becomes a…
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