Breathing In

A morning in November.
Fog in the air. Everything you see
is vague and soft and unsure.

The air smells like summer.
Balmy in a season normally
peppered with frost.

You take a deep breath
of the air, moist and warm
and full of mystery,

gathering the heat
in your lungs,
preparing for the inevitable.

Because it is all inevitable.
Warm. Cold. Winter. Spring.
Love, Loss, Nothing remains forever

except God. And so you breathe him in,
maybe not enough for eternity,
but enough for now.

About this poem.

It is strangely warm for November here in Vermont. The elections promise a change in the wind. My life is busy and good, full of energy and love and good work. There is change in the air.

And so I breathe in the moment. Fresh air to hold me for times when all is fouled.

The photograph was taken not far from my home in West Pawlet, Vermont.

Be well. Travel wisely.

Tom