Hey guys,

I wrote this little something something...Felt like writing a poem about MG...

Fall

I Woke up this morning, and I sat at the edge of my bed,
a common practice these days when sleeping's done.
I don't do it because I feel like sitting suddenly-
as if my back needs it, or I have to put on some socks, or maybe pat the cat's head.
I do put on socks, and my back does need a good stretch from time-to-time,
and Charley will often incite me to to drag myself out of rest
to rub his cheek,
But mostly, the moving into the seated position is done for thinking,
somewhere, epiphonies, discoveries-cures
are believed to be found in some new position.
The body's convinced of this
because when I get to thinking, I move
...Inertia to movement to a new inertia.
then the thinking,
and maybe some looking down, with a hand on the forehead, and a methodic rub.

There's a tree that sits in the middle of my window.
When the thinking's done, and a decision is made to stand up now,
I tilt my head upward and I see it there.
The whole thing is like a picture-in-frame;
my window the frame, some royal blue curtains dressing that frame
and a tree, the focal-point.
Poetry in motion
or the inertia of a window with a tree visible through it.

One time, during the summer, I thought that Autumn was coming early
because that tree had sprouted small bundles of berries
when no one was looking (as these things tend to invariably happen)
- when I was off doing something else,
something probably decided upon based on the morning's thoughts.
My mom thought it too.
"I think that summer's going to end early this year. Global warming, you know."
I knew immediately why she thought this as my mom and I tend to notice the same things
and come to the same conclusions, wrong or right.

The previous time I had taken a good look at that tree, it was bare except for
lone leaves.
When I looked on another day,
I thought those tiny bouquets were a burnt-sienna variety.
I was sorta disappointed upon closer inspection.
"Those are berries, Mom. I thought the same things as you ha."
"Really?! Oh!" This was followed by a deep laugh and a deep blush-
a reddish-orange kind.

I'm desperate for Autumn, and I think my mom might be too.
Its icy-crisp air, and its reds, yellows, deep purples and burnt-browns, bits of green
-too many contrasting colours, but just enough.
Its rejuvination of strength through a fall in degrees
and the old associations of moving to school, moving to college,
that theme of engagement with motion, the prospect of change, always for the better;
and the invitation of pumpkins, small, white lights, hot turkey and mashed-potatoes,
kids knocking at the door, dressed in funny outfits in an attempt,
borne of a tradition,
to ward off the old.
Old reunions in search of new things and sometimes, the same old things as before.

Summer was persisting, evident in the birth of these busty, bitter, burnt-orange berries.
The berries are a pretty contrast with the lush green and the tree is still, as trees are,
sitting there in my window, ready for me when I'm done all my searching,
all my attempts at figuring out.
My sadness over my sadness over the summer's continuation,
and what that really means now.
my hopes of the strength and inevitable change that Autumn WILL bring and MIGHT bring.

I gave my forehead a final rub,
shot my shaky hands in the air
and stretched really hard.
I put on some socks when Charley jumped on my lap.
I gave him a pat.
I stood up, and I couldn't help but open the curtains as wide as they'd go,
it was automatic, like the changing of positions.