It was a cool refreshing evening for a stroll
It was the yearly harvest festival celebration
A tradition in this quaint new England town
Full of fun activities and great food and fun
I stopped for a pumpkin spice latte at the open café
On my way to the town circle with festive orange lights
Smiling as I could hear the children’s laughter and joy
A small group of them gathered for pumpkin carving
There were harvest decorations of hay bales and mums
Displayed with orange and cream colored fairly lights
Twinkling around the huge tent full of treasures to find
And with fresh apple and pumpkin pies and hot cocoa
Many candles for sale in fresh autumn scents
Displayed in baskets of colorful fall leaves
A knitting group sat together welcoming all while
Knitting scarves and hats and mittens for the needy
I found some delicious hot apple cider and donuts
As I sipped and ate my treats I took in all the festivities
I bought a pumpkin candle and a fresh apple pie to go
As I walked away, I remember feeling joyous for the season
Axes, throwing stars, and two silk scarves.
How do you release that passion?
Now you’ll remember how to
riot in the rage room,
with pure precision.
Be prudent scar
with a bold
direct
hit.
come on sun pop out
warm weather for sure to come
no more gloves and scarves
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One squirrel holds his cup with both paws,
steam curling like a question mark.
The other leans back too far~
almost tips the whole affair
into snow. They laugh in chirps,
adjust their knitted scarves.
Their chairs creak
complaining about winter.
Mittens off, they cradle warmth,
watching the marshmallows slowly
drown. A third one watches
from the fence, uninvited.
No hurry. The cocoa’s deep,
the evening long.
Their chairs rock them
like a branch in the wind.
Feels like grumpy faces when I close my eyes.
Unflattering flour on an unflattering apron.
Sandpapered down thoughts.
Flies.
Feels like a garden filled with sand, and maybe creaking sounds.
As if there’s a ghost of a swingset.
Sticks in the grass, but some are alive.
Growling, chomping apple pie with teeth.
It’s all grandma’s house,
Weird bugs, sticks coming to life, torn up scarves.
The vases in the closet.
She used to live here by herself.
We had said for years the same pestering stuff.
Even the willow tree snapped at her.
The feeling is as familiar as gravel in her driveway almost flying into my eye.
I think 92 was it.
Feels like her apple pie spattering near my burning feet.
Flies.
The mellowed out wallpaper.
Hair.
It was the night before her 92nd birthday.
I said “92 is coming for you,” in my sleep sometimes.
Would wake up with flour in my eye.
A feeling like apple pie slobbering on me.
Feels like grumpy faces-
Not grandma’s but her childhood friend in my double vision.
She knows what there is, over there in the light…
Flies…
…eating a Juicy Apple Pie handmade by some stranger.
Wintry weather wearies the mind
Another snowstorm's on the way
Icy roads can leave you in a bind
Wintry weather wearies the mind
You lose your gloves, scarves left behind
You shiver beneath skies of gray
Wintry weather wearies the mind
Another snowstorm's on the way
1-10-2026
Snowflakes dance on mountain peaks,
Laughter echoes as the cold wind speaks.
We trace our steps on frosted trails,
Warm scarves and mittens, rosy faces pale.
By the fireplace, stories unwind,
Hot cocoa shared, our hearts aligned.
Through streets adorned with twinkling light,
Family together, hearts burning bright.
From city streets to quiet streams,
We chase the magic of winter dreams.
In Georgia’s arms, the season gleams,
A memory wrapped in snowy beams.
January early
The morning came late this winter day
a glimmer from the east, a gloaming of yellow
that paled into washy white and slowly, like
It was painful when the day arrived
There was no jubilation from the baker
delivering cakes and bread to the local shop
His voice was coarse, red eyes of cold and
wearing two scarves
The lady in the shop wore an overcoat that
had gone through times of festivities, but
Do the coat and the woolly long socks
We were helping a lady from Gusty Frost
Today on the eve of Christmas,
Santa’s sleigh has scattered gifts like twinkling stars across every home,
At dawn, everyone greets with merry Christmas,
Their embraces warm and tight, like cozy scarves against winter’s chill.
Today marks the birthday of our dear friend.
In the autumn garden, fallen flowers and leaves carpet the earth in shades of green,
Amidst the cool breeze, a single red rose stands poised,
Waiting patiently for Santa’s arrival.
Santa’s gift, a gentle touch, paints a rosy glow on our friend’s cheeks,
Joy blooms within, as they accept a heartfelt Happy Birthday,
The church doors open wide, candles flicker like tiny flames of hope,
Prayers rise softly, seeking blessings from the divine.
chiffon scarves whirling
tiny bells tingling
belly dancer jiggling
her arms and legs spraying and flaying
her veil concealing her loveliness
we watched in fascination
a cultural whirlwind
enticing us all to be better women
Momentum is intangible.
So are spaghetti noodles, space, and grand openings.
I have enough time to learn about those things.
Climbing and stuff.
Dangerous for no reason, except they say it’s nice.
Turned my T-shirt inside out.
Shaking nuts and bolts off of me.
Catches on easily and causes people to skate around like a notebook doodle.
So are grass clippings, climbing bricks for no reason.
Momentum took me here.
To graceless sticks being run over by cars all day.
Momentum is sticky, slobbery, and takes all my favorite scarves.
Arctic Ocean
Way up in the north, below the north pole
With icy cold waters and snow lined peaks
Fishing can happen if you cut a hole
Just hope things stay frozen, that nothing leaks.
Lips turn bright blue and noses turn red
Walruses sit on the ice, what is left
Scarves and hats are wound round the head
Populations are sparse, no threats of theft
But ice caps are melting and they float away
Nature will start to defrost
If we keep our heads up, we won’t betray
Our world might be found and not lost
When the air has a chill,
There are sweatshirts and fleece,
Shawls and sweaters and scarves
To help shivers decrease.
But we shouldn’t forget,
As I’m here to inform,
That a flannel shirt’s best
To keep cozy and warm.
With an endless assortment
Of patterns and plaids,
These are tried-and-true staples,
Not fly-by-night fads.
Now with two new additions
To flannels I own,
I will conquer the shivers
To which I am prone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We step outside,
our breath mingling with the cold, crisp air~
a brisk murmur dances through bare branches,
while clouds fling shadows on the ground,
dragging the golden sun behind a cold veil.
It’s chili weather! they say
wrapping us in layers of warmth—
hats pulled low, scarves coiled like whispers
around our necks, as we scuttle
from doorways to the promise of heat.
Smoke curls from chimneys,
the smell drawing us together
where we dip our spoons into bowls~
the spices igniting memories
and softening beans under the weight of the world.
Chilly weather is magical,
nudging us to gather together
under the warmth of fleece blankets,
our dreams bubbling away on the stove~
those moments are memories in the making
in the heart of chili weather.
Emerald City
Supporter’s scarves in the air
Full ninety given
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