Leaning into the coming season

So close to the end of other things right now. Today has been the kind of day where everything seems possible again. Maybe it is the good night’s sleep, the productive morning, the sun (*finally out to play), or some Haim at work . . . but, today is going to be good. The hard work and the long days are finally starting to pay off.

That’s all.

shape

(Old photo –> re-liked: Pancake rocks, New Zealand)

Muscle of Difficulty 

November’s clench. A sullen band
of cloud is louring in the West—
a low forehead, a corrugated frown.
Behind it comes the cold drop of frost
and autumn’s first hard night.

Corrugator—the tightening band
over the forehead’s bone,
the ‘muscle of difficulty,’
of concentration, effort, of leaning in
to frigid wind.

I lean into this coming season
of difficulty, when the sun
will struggle to raise its head
above the angle of sunset,
its bleak obliquity.

November’s forehead wears
scoured furrow, tension.
Forgets joy, the orbicular crinkle
of eye, those other muscles
to be strengthened.

I think of squinting into the ache
of snow, corrugated tracks.
Facing into November, I find it
difficult to anticipate
consolations—

the warmth of small, enclosed spaces,
the candles of memory
at its center. How can this ever be
enough? I fear too much.
The losses. Isolation.

– Alice Major

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