How do we choose to travel?
What is reliable in the rain?
What is our ultimate destination,
for this time, this journey, or
this day?
We move at the speed of life.
Depending on traffic, others
may chose to follow your path,
but not your direction.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Autumn. What a
beautiful word. Two syllables
that float from your mouth.
Mature. Earthy. Humble.
Autumn.
You can’t rush it; already
it moves too quickly
on its own. Perhaps this is why
memories of Autumn are so clear.
Crisp, concentrated, captured
in such little time.
Winter lasts so long, and
Spring takes a while before
it is even presentable. Summer
is always unpredictable, but
Autumn,
precious Autumn, arrives
and then leaves us enough life,
colour, and anticipation
to see us through
another year.
Autumn.
It can’t wait, but I do.
09/22/2017 j.g.l.
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.