Gray November sky,
trees are bare again
and the wind chills,
soon, I will be older.
Trees are full of birds,
going one direction:
fleeing south
ahead of cold and freezing;
long waiting is ahead.
Duane L Herrmann was surprised to find himself in 1951 on a prairie farm. Still trying to make sense of that, he’s grown fond of grass waving under wind, trees, and moonlight. He survived a traumatic, abusive childhood embellished with dyslexia, ADHD (both unknown at the time), cyclothymia, now, PTSD.
Whispers and Echoes 
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