Sunday, February 12, 2012

From Jan. 19, minus 24 Celsius, at the log cabin, woodstove crackling


Here I was led, over winter paths crusted
with snow frozen colder than when it first fell.
Four walls of sturdy logs, the warm woodstove roaring,
I rest here and warm myself, and my spirit as well.
The tranquil trees 'round me outside this small cabin
are poplar and hawthorn and staunch strong oak.
So rugged, these oak trees, their dark-barked limbs lifted
like supplicant citizens, like regular folk.
What do they ask for, these silent woods people;
what are their pleas and their prayers asking for?
Mercy in winter, enough snow for blankets,
in summer both sun and rain, as ever before.

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