The chill of November

brushes against my cheeks,

hair wind-tangled,

nostrils touched by

distant wood smoke.

Coat hugged tight,

I walk through

Your season-spun world -

feeling like an observer,

yet intimately woven into it.

Everything in my sweeping gaze

is Yours -

stark trees,

steely clouds,

elemental mud,

and a wind-blown sloe bush

heavy with dusky berries.

You are the life breathing

through all of us.

And as I walk,

You walk within me.

Shakti spiralled

within my warmth.

Infinite somehow

held by the finite.

The sacred resting

in a mortal home.