A Lull

Mist rises over the mountains,
The world is between sips,
requiring nothing
for just this second.

Elms are stripped
of their umbrella leaves;
their bare limbs celebrate freedom
with no inkling of brooding.

There is peace in the sound
of November rain.
It lulls into thoughts
of content.

No victories or failures to plague us,
there’s no struggle to overcome,
just an overwhelming sense
of simplicity

at the kiss of the kindred rain.

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