---

The big dark was coming. 

He sauntered through the rain as the wind gusts stripped the trees to their skeletons.

The street drains were stuffed with fallen leaves until the sidewalks flooded. 

He listened to the news on a small transistor radio in his pocket, 

which he’d bought with Green Stamps as a boy.

The news was interspersed with the crackle and spit of static.

The fire department was called to a man who had been up in a tree for a month. 

The man threw pine cones and branches at shoppers. 

People were worried about the health of the tree.

Another severed foot had washed ashore on the beach. 

No one ever knew where or whom they came from.

He collected lost cat posters from the telephone poles as he walked. 

Only if they were of a certain age, tar stained and fading.

He would take them to a quiet fire pit down by the water and burn them, 

a last testament to the furry departed.

Every night, an hour before dusk, a river of crows would flow 

through the clouds and rays of light above him.

Shadows engulfed the cobbles as he walked home

through the shattered pumpkins and candle wax.

Ginkgo leaves covered the path, glowing yellow sunlight.

The house windows lit up with golden comfort to the melody of wandering hobo piano and infant laughter.  He could smell the rosemary and garlic of pot roast.

---

Addison was raised hippie and spent his formative years in a leaky log cabin in Oregon. His work represents the misfits, characters, and beauty of the Pacific Northwest.  He performs his work at spoken word venues throughout the Northwest. He has been featured in Emeralds in the Ash, The Baseball Bard, The Zest of the Lemon, Tap into Poetry, Wax on Poetry, and on Hollow Earth Radio.