Bare and broken branches litter the groundand the smell of heavy, wet and earth hangs overhead.Small girls in flannel nightshirts are crownedby halos of sweat-damp curls as they dream in bed.A dying autumn breeze now slips through the forest,through the wind-whipped oaks and elms and pine,and scatters leaves across the pavement before usas you slip … Continue reading November, Before the Morning After