So many days, so little posts.

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Photo by Ana M. on

It is November ELEVENTH and I’m finally publishing something for the month! I was so fortunate to have a busy September and October: writing for Clarkesworld Magazine, leading Tarot workshops for teens, leading Arden Dimick Book Club and a writing workshop, writing for Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, and driving my daughter places. And driving. and driving. And driving. And, of course, falling behind here.

In the next couple of weeks I’ll talk about tarot and make my Geeky Gratitude list. For today I’ll leave you with germ-free thoughts (I have a cold) and a poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter, courtesy of Cotter was an African-American poet from Kentucky who lived from 1861 – 1916. In addition to being a well-regarded poet, he was also an advocate of Civil Rights and of education.

Old November, sere and brown,
Clothes the country, haunts the town,
Sheds its cloak of withered leaves,
Brings its sighing, soughing breeze.
Prophet of the dying year,
Builder of its funeral bier,
Bring your message here to men;
Sound it forth that they may ken
What of Life and what of Death
Linger on your frosty breath.
Let men know to you are given
Days of thanks to God in heaven;
Thanks for things which we deem best,
Thanks, O God, for all the rest
That have taught us–(trouble, strife,
Bring thru Death a larger life)–
Death of our base self and fear–
(Even as the dying year,
Though through cold and frost, shall bring
Forth a new and glorious spring)–
Shall shed over us the sway
Of a new and brighter day,
With Hope, Faith and Love alway.

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