Invitation to Inhale
By Susan Scheno

Ah, there’s the must
of Mirror Lake as it mingles
with pine scented tea water.

Near the shore, arrowhead plants
rise in floral salute
while water lilies sunbathe
showing off their opal faces.

Rosy, fish-boned clouds
sky swim as a quick run
of minnows nibble at my toes.

Mt. Shaw, the prominent gray sentinel
with outstretched piney arms,
hovers above water sixty feet deep,
and as I lay upon the surface
and face the mountain, I hear
a kayak rocking, knocking
against the dock and I am lulled.

Exhale.

(Susan Scheno is a Troubadour reader from Pawley’s Island, SC)

November Dawn
by Kim McQuaid

When my coffee is the right temperature:
Cold white dust rests upon everything,
A steel blue sky punctuated with stark silhouettes of birds and
Pen and ink trees with bare arms clicking and swaying,
And a crackling fire—
The break of November Dawn.

(Kim McQuaid is a Troubadour reader from Canaan, NH)

Early November
by B.P. Duncan

After the leaves finish falling
before the first snow
I come to the White Mountains
to absorb the serenity of nature.

The deep hues of evergreens
and white trunks of birches
create a season within a season
of clearer vision.

I wear my warmest clothes
to watch the sun weaken
until stars intensify
over Black Mountain

As time stills
and my body rejects cold,
I exist within
the universe and my soul.

(B.P. Duncan is a Troubadour reader from Derry, NH)

Late Autumn on Horseshoe Pond
by Cora Chapman Arthur

Twisted limbs on empty trees
Dusty grasses underneath
Cloudless blue on high.

Beauty of a different hue
Wayward breezes, cooler now
Time to keep a weather eye.

Barren hills beyond the shore
Chilly ripples on the pond
Winter, standing by.

(Cora Chapman Arthur is a Troubadour reader from Concord, NH)

Rebirth
by Paula Amrich

Not dying,
replacing…
burnt umber, yellow orange, crimson hues,
infinite palette…
splendor.
Not dying, progressing…
crisp breeze, naked branches, crackling underfoot,
sensory delight…
splendor.
Not dying,
approaching…
blinding blanket, desolate landscape, icy magnificence,
rebirth preparation…
splendor.
Not dying,
embracing…
Creator’s design…
splendor.

(Paula Amrich is a Troubadour reader from Peterborough, NH)

Approaching Winter
by Linda Clifford

When others younger,
much younger than I,
lament the coming season,
complain of snow
even before
it has begun to fall,
I wonder do they, too,
lament the loss
of the rosy-cheeked children
they once were,
reveling in the bright cold
and the crisp kiss of snowflakes
on their upturned faces.

(Linda Clifford is a Troubadour reader from N. Swanzey, NH)