Author: maiamom

No one has one potato chip.

It simply can’t be done.

If you have one potato chip,

you’ll have another one.

Samantha’s last day

has come and gone.

Her gift of love

will carry us on.

The oceans brewing up a storm.

We’ll batten down the hatches.

We’ll get out candles, logs, and quilts

and find the kitchen matches.

We’ll set out cookies, cheese, and bread

that we can eat curled up in bed.

We’re set with poise and cool aplomb

if it’s another “cyclone bomb.”

Our Samantha’s feerly poorly.

Seeks the warmth.  Avoids the cold.

Barely lifts her head for petting.

Our Samantha’s growing old.

A bomb cyclone came roaring through.

A trail of devastation.

For most, an inconvenience.

For some, a ruination.

Trees are down.  There’s power out.

Road closures from the storm.

But in my house, the heat is on,

and I am toasty warm.

The wind is blowing leaves in piles.

The piles are always changing.

As soon as leaves heap up in piles

the wind starts re-arranging.

The future is waiting.

This darkness must pass.

Hope trembles among us.

These troubles won’t last.

November’s sulking.

Dull and gray.

Raw and chilly.

A dismal day.

Did you see the moon last night?

Fat and full with bulging light?

A golden glow spilled through the sky

as fat old moon slipped silent by.

May this day erupt with Blessings.

May your heart lift up and soar.

And when all around are Blessings…

may you suddenly find more.