The White Swallow

October 8, 2009

There is wood to be stacked. No soft glow or warmth of a fire yet. How long can we go before the days and nights revolve around the wood stoves? Wool socks, sweaters and indoor hats, our only defense for now. Storm doors and storm windows sealing out drafts…gearing up for battle, winter is on it’s way. Lowering the body’s expectations for warmth…tomorrow I will light the fires, but tonight we will sleep beneath feathers and down and wake to a cold house. You have to be strong to live north of everything. I tell myself this as the winters take their toll.

Today I sealed the white swallow between the plastic sheet and the glass panes, looking out, watching the leaves turn from green to gold. From this window, she will watch the rain fall tomorrow and the leaves fall in the coming weeks and the snow fall come December. A quiet solitude I long for.

There are many beautiful things to come…winter songs born out of this place I call home, but for now… sleep is calling and I shall go.

white swallow


4 Responses to “The White Swallow”

  1. Lydia Parham-Brown said

    This poem is quite beautiful describing the feeling of cold winter arriving.

  2. she can spread her wings now … spring has arrived!

  3. Hi, its fastidious piece of writing concerning media print,
    we all know media is a enormous source of information.

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