A series of vignettes and musings as autumn slowly turns to winter

Welcome here the snow and sleet,
Welcome here woolen socks for cold feet.

Light the stove, brew the best tea,
Sniffles be gone, you cannot bother me,

Born of Autumn, Grown in Winter’s snow,
Sturdy stock, knit the rows you know.

The snow and sleet are held at bay,
The cold is not felt on this stormy day.

© 2021 MC

The frost glittered in the almost full Wolf moon. In the sifted light, the fence by the creek bared it’s teeth, as if to guard the forest beyond. Nearby, the pasture slowly ate the remains of an old cabin, a little more each season being drawn into the black, patient earth. The old apple tree draped its limbs and in the snow created a protective umbrella over the old doe who lay munching on the frozen fruits of last windfall.

Slopping through the mushfest of my yard tonight to find my crying feral cat Autumn, I became impaled on a forgotten Tiki torch only adding to my disappointment regarding the winter storm dangerously flirting it’s skills on the edge of Spring’s opening show, but, also catching my winter coat and ripping it! Appalled, I tore free and shook my feeble fist toward the sky, ” Will you need fresh sheets Winter????” No, He declined a reply.

The other day I caught a scent on the wind that took me straight back to a day in the orchards of the old Okanogan Rd. Ripe apples and sage for a moment permeated the air and I was transported to that rolling road. The trees around me stood pregnant and heavy with golden and red globes of the forbidden fruit of Eden . The smoke of sage swirled forming an effigy of a guardian who watched over us that day, permitting no harm to come, during a youthful and reckless vignette of an afternoon.

© 2021 MC