On this second day of November

some love, and maybe even a lift?

Hello,

I’m making this letter a collage of thoughts and images for you. Perhaps it will even be a deep breath for anyone who wants or needs it.

It’s the second day of November and the earth is gracing this small corner of her ecosystem with a temperate blue-sky day full of crow conversations, lazily drifting leaves, and the kind of golden sunlight and shifting leaf shadow that only happens here for a few weeks each autumn. I’m in full lizard soak-up-the-light-because-autumn-rains-are-coming-soon mode.

I have nearly fallen over countless times trying to capture the juxtaposition of autumn leaves against an autumn blue sky. The teetering is totally worth it just to drink in those colors and that light.

It’s the second day of November and the mid-term elections here in the U.S. are seven days away. The political noise is relentless. Every form of communication is clogged and burning and, in my home, silenced. We’ve already researched and discussed and decided, making the offered frenzy and vitriol unnecessary.

Alright, yes, this dewy chrysanthemum has nothing to do with the preceding paragraph. Except it does. Moments like this remind me to breathe and that, of course, is one of the ways I survive relentless, frenzied vitriol.

It’s the second day of November and all is blessedly calm in the lives of my far-flung family and, for today, I am blessedly pain-free. My energy can land on this page, and in the waiting lines and verses of poems in progress. Maybe a few rows will be added to the deliciously soft blanket I’m crocheting.

No pictures yet of the blanket, but this is me, pain-free, and a scarf I crocheted last winter.

It’s the second day of November in the northeastern part of the U.S. and my windows are wide open which makes me smile and makes me uneasy all at once. Is this warm day a climate aberration or a gift? Perhaps it’s both? Is that possible? I think it must be possible, or I must make it possible, because it is certainly the reality in which I’m living. These days seem to be asking for arms long, strong, and resilient enough to embrace clashing feelings and circumstances. And to embrace trees, of course. Because, trees.

An aberration and a gift.

It’s the second day of November and here’s a favorite poem-in-process of mine. Let me know what you think.

From my desk I can see
that hole in the place where
the two trunks meet. It's at least
a quarter-century deep. A hollow
to house families. Now
squirrels, last summer flickers. 
The winter before revealed sharp
triangle ears rising at dusk. Soft 
mouse-gray pellets clustered below.

Each evening for months
his stillness paused us both.

Well, the sun has dropped behind the line of white pines and the breeze has calmed. This day is is coming to rest and so is this letter. Wherever you are, may you and moments of peace find each other, more often than not.

With gentle appreciation,

Tracie

tracienichols.com

P.S. The Saturday Writing folks are still gathering on the first and third Saturdays of each month. You are very welcome to write with us!

P.P.S. For more deep breaths, maybe even a contented sigh, try this episode of The Slowdown featuring Dana Levin’s brilliant poem “How to Hold the Heavy Weight of Now.”