In search of story

November 18.21: Coping


I’m lonely;

I’ll make me a world,

God said.

Now comes the echo,

in winter wind

— loneliest sound —

that lifts dead leaves

like empty chalices,

a last offering

before ice that freezes

even loneliness,

and the moldering carpet

woven by the wind

becomes blanket

for wiggly unseens.

And yet

I’m lonely


each of us,

after all,

only one.


With thanks to James Weldon Johnson for his poem “The Creation,”

and to the anonymous student

in a high school speech meet many years ago

who put it in my head.


7 thoughts on “November 18.21: Coping

  1. Nice. I might have to show more respect for all those leaves I’ve been raking. 🙂

  2. “…becomes blanket for wiggly unseens” Oh how that reminds me of the year we didn’t rake any leaves. We left everything until spring and we had a biology project when we started cleaning the yard in April.

  3. ‘Ice that freezes / Even loneliness’ gave me pause – it’s a powerful thought. I have been looking at the fallen leaves along the pavement on my solitary walks and having the opposite thought – how they seem to socialise or at least gather and mix. They do not exactly move in ways the human mind might predict… or at least not this one.

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