“You will be missed!”
I utter from scornful and
mournful lips
on my tip toes I attempt to
peer past the horizon and beyond
the curvature of the world
so that I can glimpse
her fire
one more time.
Statue-still waters ripple and lap
gently onto pebbles slick with melancholy
as cold breaths of winter
glimpse in on us
inquisitive yet oblivious to our
mourning there.
I skip one more stone
with warm days of August
still lingering to fingertips
now growing deathly cold…
turning, I exhale one last time
and reluctantly embrace
these colder days once again.
photo & poem by Scott E. Strissel 11/5/2013
Pastor's Ponderings 
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