November dream, Bearsville 2017

The crow,
its call a silver
laughed, and broke
the morning’s
curved blue air.
A squirrel, in luxurious November
scolding, nervous,
insistent, holding firm,
close to my right hand,
in a Japanese maple tree.

That night,
I’d dreamed I stood
on Bunny Knoll, the neighbor’s
flowering trees reaching
over the fence,
with Rousseau colors, smells and
heavy leaves,
to shield my voids.
Where twigs had fallen,
my feet hurt.
Otherwise, the lawn was
cool and soft.
My heart felt childish,
and I felt whole, and at liberty
to do what will and mood
I called to no one,
“Here I am!” No one heard.
I’d called the sky,
and you,
to let you know
I’m here and whole,
and like a child,
happy, happy.

This was two nights before
USA Election Night 2017.
I took it to mean I would
be growing younger.
Now I think it meant
we’ll all get well.

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