November Thanks

     Words and image by Mary Bach

There is a clear, cold light

this November morning,

and last night’s powdering of snow

transforms the ridge.

The trees weave an intricate

design of branches 

studded here and there

with chickadees, jays, cardinals.

Walking through the garden

I am warmed by

your hand

in mine.

Over at dVerse Poets' Pub Brian asked us to write about something we are thankful for.  

We Cling to the Familiar

     Image: People in Trees by Mikola Gnisyuk vis Baibakov Art Projects

We cling to the familiar,

to what we know,

long after we know

it no longer serves us,

no longer is true.

We cling to the familiar,

because we have done this

for so long,

to pry our fingers away is painful.

Our hands are adhered,

seared to the surface

of the obsolete.

And in tearing them away

we leave

raw, bloody layers

of ourselves 
behind.

We cling to the familiar,

because we do not know

what else to cling to,

and the thought

of empty hands,

of free falling,

with nothing to hold on to

terrifies us.

We cling to the familiar,

because we know it,

because imagining something else,

something new,

is hard,

and we are lazy.

We resist when we can simply cling

to the familiar.

So we do.

We cling to the familiar

long after

it has become
absurd.

This is for the November PAD (Poem a Day).  The image is a prompt from Robert Brewer at Writers Digest.  Click on the link and check it out.