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.
It takes a lot of choc’late
to live through a lost election.
A fresh baked batch of brownies
makes a start in that direction!
May this day be filled with blessings.
May your hours be free from strife.
May you feel the deep contentment
of a full, and happy. life.
Living the Aging Life 