Unseen forces roar the trees
and bend them into music.
The moon pins silver to the sky.
Night doesn’t fall—it rises.
Hecate waits at the crossroads.
Here
you can cleanse yourself
with the wind as witness
and rest
if you need to grieve
what you are leaving.
Here
you can choose
what to lose.
Holly L. Thomas
11/20/20
Photo by Oliver Roos on Unsplash