Fully mature, leaves of harvest gold and late summer green,
limbs of ash and elm buck in gale force winds
early snowfall weighs down those groaning giants
determined to break their spirits.
Howling winds, incessant snowfall, bearing wetness
like last summer’s thunderstorms,
take no pity on delicate leaves
slender branches and hardy limbs that succumb.
Sizzling, arching flame
brilliant orange flash
explosion the magnitude of
a hundred nearby thunderclaps.
Power lines broken
connection to the world severed
winds insistent on having their own way
snow falling, rising, sideways, up and down.
Neighbors in high top boots, scarves and gloves
brave the fury to invite, entice, persuade –
Come. Stay the night.
Our wood pile is dry, our room is warm.
Storm rages relentless, whiteness blankets the universe.
We fan the embers of quietness, long neglected,
draw our chairs up close, sip hot tea,
and speak our stories into timelessness.
-- phyllis boernke © 2013 --