Made of stories
I would like to kiss the New Year, but I can’t reach that high. I would like to glimpse what’s next, but I can’t open my eyes that wide. So I will simply sit here, on the floor, with the cats, telling stories.
In times like these
October holds our hand so we’re not too scared to walk into the cold. She blesses the dark with orange and gold. She Halloweens us. She presses our trembling fingers into November’s paw, a knot of Saints and Souls. And in November, we remember: we are always living in Times Like These.
Forever loved: Possum
She mattered. The world never knew her. No golden frames contained her face. Her story was as silent as snow. She mattered.