In the fall there's firewood and Van Morrison
with the smell of turf and clean sweat
sweeping the years, surging and earnest,
while leaves are on their way to be redeemed.
with the smell of turf and clean sweat
sweeping the years, surging and earnest,
while leaves are on their way to be redeemed.
At Christmastime I remove from my car's ashtray
the wrappers, the change, the rubber bands,
everything but a small silver sleighbell,
and let it roll around as I take my turns.
In the depths of winter there are mornings
when I wait to put on my coat
and move firewood to the house feeling
the give of warmth, the take of frost.
When winter eases its grip and there is
a recovering smile in the pale blue sky,
I do my work, all the while busy,
as if I could keep up with the possibilities.
Then one day begins a long season
of frank abundance, warm, green, dense.
We swim, begin to quiet, and watch,
while for the young it stretches far and pliant.
~~~~~~~~~~
Douglas Logan
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