What gets left behind
with our unmade minds
forever rushing?
What do we leave behind
if we did not take the
the time to notice?
What is no longer mine
because neither you nor I
could take our time?
12/02/2024 j.g.l.
look around
Be thankful
for what you have, for
what you have to let go of,
and for those who are still
with you. Gratitude comes
in many forms. Look around.
Be thankful.
j.g.l.
cloud songs
It is only silence and only
for now, a minute or three
but who is counting?
Enough, for now.
Slight Repose, a little grace,
enough until you have
found your place. Might be
morning, or the end of the day,
yet it is time to yourself anyway.
For now.
11/29/2024 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.
Mondays are just young Fridays
Posted on November 29, 2021 by j.g.lewis
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I took a walk through the downtown early yesterday morning as the city’s first snowfall began to accumulate.
The temperature and the wind-chill have been chilly in Toronto the past couple of days, but the precipitation seemed to officially mark the change of season. Winter has arrived.
The fluffy “Charlie Brown” snowflakes seemed to warm things up.
The snow continued through the day and the world of white outside the window somehow seemed silent and safe.
It’s a nice feeling.
11/29/2021 j.g.l.
