
fog on day fifty
trees had leaves when we began
yet we’re still not home

fog on day fifty
trees had leaves when we began
yet we’re still not home

scent of fresh baked bread
flocks flying below the clouds
winter solstice’s here

with a little help
dead leaves taking flight again
oddly comforting

one step at a time
living each day as it comes
cherishing each one

outside the ER
holiday lights already
how can this be real