November Wind: A poem by Mike Cole

He felt a chill as the air grew cold

The leaves blew gently

He closed his eyes

This November was colder than usual.

He chopped wood and carried the bundle back to the fireplace

The wood crackled as it burned.

He thought back to Novembers long before, and was left, wanting.

A time where the warmth of the fire was felt throughout.

Where his jaded smile was once whole.

Yet only the cold remained. Waiting for Winter, silently and alone.

Summer’s Twilight

He sat and heard the crickets chirp

He waited and saw the fireflies dance

The sun set and he felt a breeze

His hand gripped the Earth, dirt cascading from his fingers to the gentle grass.

He took a deep breath and smiled, as he knew summer was at an end.