Journal

Thanksgiving

There is a slow thick sky today a slow soft dark grey light on Thanksgiving morning I came home to watch the silken sky open around trees kept company by a few stubborn leaves, now rich brown like old leather. I came home for this slow moving daylight that will wait outside my window quietly lighting the room with a grey light, a slow light, a dream light. And in that soft light I’ll take down books from the shelves and read words I’ve read a million times and want to read a million more. And in the evening the sharp black lines of trees will begin to sink into the sky as it looses it’s day color and fades away. The woods will be swallowed in steps too small to measure and the trees in the front yard will disappear and someone will say “Another day gone” and that’s why I came home, for another day. For time passing for slow thick skies that move through branches on trees I’ve seen a million times and want to see a million more.

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