The prompt today is “Deep,” and just in time. Today is the day I make Thanksgiving dinner, rather than Thursday, And yesterday I was depressed all day, silly, I know, but tradition is a big part of me, I suppose, more than I really knew. I had hoped to bring my son (stationed in southern Arizona with the Army) up to spend the holiday with the family, and got the news that he was unable to. Very sad. Decided to stick to the Friday dinner idea to insure the other son and daughter-in-law would be able to come to dinner, as well as one of their friends.
I pulled myself out of my depression by last evening, and bounced out of bed today to start pie, rolls, etc., so all will be ready for dinner at 7:30 p.m. But that gloom was the beginning of the idea of the Double Fibonacci poem that follows:
smoky, lonesome dark
of this mental dungeon where I always seem to go.
How long before I