NC Literary Hall of Fame





And so begins another autumn day.

Sunlight filters

through bare trees.

Fallen and frosted leaves

crackle beneath boots.

Still air stings cheeks

and is felt in the lungs.

From the house chimney,

a thin column of smoke

lifts into cloudless nitrogen blue.


Ah, if this was not the beginning of

another perfect autumn day

and instead

a day of clouds and mists and rain –

seeping, soaking, relentless rain.

How much more perfect would that be?

The land and lakes wish for it.

The creeks and streams weep for it.


And yet it begins another perfect autumn day.


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