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November Trees
Glenda Council Beall



Driving home from Atlanta
I turn off the radio
and listen to the swooshing
of tires on wet pavement,
the clack, clacking of windshield
wipers in the rain.

Back in the city, trees
still cling to fall foliage,
saffron and crimson.
In the malls, fake trees
brandish colored Christmas lights.
Did I somehow miss Thanksgiving?

Near Blue Ridge, the rain stops.
Mist shrouded mountains host
hardwoods with bare limbs
that rake puffy, blue-grey skies.
Why did I come here to live
the last part of my life?

I cannot bear the confusion
of the city. It is only good
for long weekend visits.
The flatland of my birth
could never satisfy
the cravings of my soul.

I need mountain vistas to smooth
my rumpled mind disturbed by 
too many expected and unexpected
challenges. In the distance
I see Tusquittee Range. I’ll
be home before darkness closes in.


© by Glenda Beall..
Used with the author’s permission.


Glenda Beall was raised on a farm in Albany, Georgia, and taught school for many years before relocating to western North Carolina. Her poetry, short stories, and essays have been widely published in journals, anthologies, newspapers, and magazines. Glenda teaches writing classes for adults and serves as Program Coordinator for the western branch of the North Carolina Writers Network. Learn more about Glenda at


Post New Comment:
Glenda Beall:
Thanks to you all for your comments. I, too, love to look at the ocean, but the land near the ocean does not feel like home to me - only the mountains. Thank you.
Posted 11/14/2011 09:47 PM
Nice poem, Glenda! Love the limbs raking the sky.
Posted 11/13/2011 06:54 PM
I too, put 'ocean' where you have 'mountain', but the feeling is exactly the same...home... Lovely poem, Judy
Posted 11/13/2011 11:57 AM
The description of awareness as in "who is oneself" in different places and the journey of permission to not have to hold on to one single identity is beautifully presented.
Posted 11/13/2011 03:18 AM
I feel the same sense of peace as I approach the Atlantic or the Gulf. Not that mountains aren't great, but the desolate beauty of great bodies of water tangibly calms my heart. I know of what this poet speaks. Wonderful poem!
Posted 11/12/2011 07:20 AM

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