There are times when the poem I am working on is struggling to find its voice. Something happens. October 1 was that kind of day. I just stepped outside to do the daily chores around the yard. It was as if the weather was waiting for me: Like an Impressionist painting the words of October flashed onto the page:

Words for October

Wild out there today
Cold clouds
Wind whipped leaves
Dark rain
Palpable energy
Touching the psyche
Penetrating the soul

The other poem showed itself in two versions. Wow

"&>,: 9"