When in these winter days...

There's something about the plain sense to winter that I find inspires me to write about her. As Steven's has noted about this season; we come to see the thing itself not the idea of the thing. I offer you this broadside;


Winter’s Leaves
(preface)

When winter’s wind
whistles wild-white
and December’s dank,
early, dark cold
combs all forms
in the snowman’s frost;
there is a house so still,
upon a country knoll,
inviting those who may be cold,
to come inside. Kept keen
with warmth by firelight–
rest your bones, your weary eyes...
then listen to the sound
of the wind, the self-same
sound of the land...
Inside these leaves
the gentle rustle
of firewood sparks, and we
in child-like wonder transfixed
In the glow.
Come inside, and hear a voice
mingled within the wind,
these words– like dust–
these winter leaves,
the warm house so still,
upon a country knoll.