Sharing’s season silently shifts,

Dabbling in doromania,

Blurring by bells becoming blues.

Hope’s healing—holy, humble—heres,

Returning reigned resplendence’s

Greatest gratis gift: grace greeted. ; )

Covered from wintertide’s windblown sleets and weather white,

Summer hides beneath shuffled sheets through both light and night. ; )

Vacation’s bear veered into its visitatorial milieu of valley’s vista, vetting salmon’s value via volumes of voraciously vested vim and vigor. ; )

While the Coon from Maine

May seem quite insane

Mewing mines in vain

Much like paravane

Out-claws each sensed pain,

Such acts aren’t inane—

Just in need of rain

To see worries wane

And purrs bloom again. ; )

At arval stood a deer—spirit animal of dearest departed dear—reminding company that what may not seem near could still be found where the heart does hear. ; )