After a November Rain

Buried under a stack of reading, the couch is your burrow. 

But then you look out of your window and see this.

You catch a glimpse of your  rose bush, an orange flame tilted upward at the same sky.

You can't resist.

 You are taken in by 

lemons

and 

kumquats

not yet ripe, but promising something

So now you have the courage to leave your house and visit your favorite neighborhood tree--

a tree you think of as a vanquished giant rammed headfirst into the earth by an enemy

 strong legs visible while his heart beats beneath the ground

eyes and mouth and nose filled with dirt. 

The leaves he drops are offerings 

and you bring one home to remind you of something but you're not sure what

so you make an offering of it too.

And when you stand at your patio gate

you see the beauty of all of it 

and you give thanks to your made-up gods--

to the guardian of the camellias

and to the god of yellow

and the gray god of rain

because when he stops hurting you

the world looks like this