Mid November

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Saturday was in the 60’s and Sunday we woke to snow, large fluffy flakes falling fast, colliding together. The woodstove is  cranking out heat again.

This is a November poem, describing my ‘Rites of Cold Nights’. “Why”, someone asked, “did the floor need sweeping”? Because I no longer have a cat. When temperatures drop, mice want to come indoors, and one needs to discourage mice fromthinking they’ve found the best winter accommodations possible.

The painting above is of Steven’s Swamp, a walk up the road and into the woods. And yes, there is snow on the ground here tonight.

Below Zero Tonight

When it’s below zero and
quiet coldness radiates
through window frames

Sweep the kitchen clean
load the wood stove with cherry
watch the bright flames dance

roast chestnuts
hold their warmth before you eat
leave cupboard doors open
to heat water pipes
note the shiver of moonbeams dance
across the glaze of snow

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About elainereardon

Poet, writer, gardener, small sculptures—communing with Spirits of the Forest and Field, bumping into magic, peeking around new corners.
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