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November Trees
by
Glenda Council Beall


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Driving home from Atlanta
I turn off the radio
and listen to the swooshing
of tires on wet pavement,
the clack, clacking of windshield
wipers in the rain.

Back in the city, trees
still cling to fall foliage,
saffron and crimson.
In the malls, fake trees
brandish colored Christmas lights.
Did I somehow miss Thanksgiving?

Near Blue Ridge, the rain stops.
Mist shrouded mountains host
hardwoods with bare limbs
that rake puffy, blue-grey skies.
Why did I come here to live
the last part of my life?

I cannot bear the confusion
of the city. It is only good
for long weekend visits.
The flatland of my birth
could never satisfy
the cravings of my soul.

I need mountain vistas to smooth
my rumpled mind disturbed by 
too many expected and unexpected
challenges. In the distance
I see Tusquittee Range. I’ll
be home before darkness closes in.

 

© by Glenda Beall..
Used with the author’s permission.

 

Purchase a framed print of this poem.

Glenda C. Beall's first poetry book was published by Finishing Line Press in 2009. Although she writes and publishes poetry, she teaches memoir writing at her studio, Writers Circle, in Hayesville, NC. She lives in the Appalachian Mountains where she feels she must surely have lived in a past life, as the mountains have always called her name and she is more at home there than the flatlands of southwest Georgia where she was born. Her only regret is that she did not begin to study writing until the second half of her life. She’s trying to make up for lost time. Learn more about Glenda at her blogs, www.glendacouncilbeall.blogspot.com and www.profilesandpedigrees.blogspot.com.

 


Post New Comment:
Glenda Beall:
Thanks to you all for your comments. I, too, love to look at the ocean, but the land near the ocean does not feel like home to me - only the mountains. Thank you.
Posted 11/14/2011 09:47 PM
karenpaulholmes:
Nice poem, Glenda! Love the limbs raking the sky.
Posted 11/13/2011 06:54 PM
transitions:
I too, put 'ocean' where you have 'mountain', but the feeling is exactly the same...home... Lovely poem, Judy
Posted 11/13/2011 11:57 AM
apersephone:
The description of awareness as in "who is oneself" in different places and the journey of permission to not have to hold on to one single identity is beautifully presented.
Posted 11/13/2011 03:18 AM
69Dorcas:
I sense your longing to be "home," but here I must stay in NYC.
Posted 11/12/2011 04:23 PM
69Dorcas:
I sense your longing to be "home," but here I must stay in NYC.
Posted 11/12/2011 04:22 PM
dotief@comcast.net:
I feel the same sense of peace as I approach the Atlantic or the Gulf. Not that mountains aren't great, but the desolate beauty of great bodies of water tangibly calms my heart. I know of what this poet speaks. Wonderful poem!
Posted 11/12/2011 07:20 AM


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