Wind blows.
Another weakened leaf drifts downward,
caught gently by Mother Earth.
A hungry squirrel flicks his tail as he pauses atop my backyard fence.
No birds at the feeders just now,
though fallen seeds below attest to their visit.
More bared branches admit vision to the blue November sky.
Dormancy looms.
As I turn to the holly tree nearby,
I smile.
She’s birthing red berries among her pointy leaves of green.
There’s hope: new life.
Every season.
Pondering Christ 