Seasonal Thoughts From Center Sandwich, New Hampshire

 In late  autumn, in-between the mountains, a sinking sun

glows bright orange. Silhouetted on ridges above the valleys —

pines, leafless maples, stark  bare oak trees.

 

I notice a single leaf wobbling

on a low birch branch near me.

I presumed, waiting on the winter wind

for her  invitation to an early frost

and a late autumn’s— evening’s fling—

 

I remember

encircling wooden posts with rusting wire fences

for a dance floor, dancing my first  winter waltz

with the chill wind, red cheeks blushing warm—

 

–Snow glistening across the meadow

Pushed through the White Mountains—

Enjoying delightful winter flakes on my tongue.

 

 

Kicking snow into white clouds announcing

my next boot’s intention 

— lest’ I slip.

 

Twirling in traditional steps of solid granite stature.

Dipping, stomping, sliding, gabbing a handful of snow

kissed, licked, and eaten cold.

 

we would play and dance to a robust measure of silent music;

then, with symphonic pause  –time for another last thought—

I would be  pushed home

 whistled in snowflake crescendo,

pulling up my collar,

 and tightening my wool hat

towards drifting wood stove smoke

and supper on the kitchen table

with a cup of hot chocolate that was perfectly warm.

 

Thoughts – as I watched,

late autumn sun setting on

my New Hampshire home.

 

I went inside with an arm full of wood.

Smiling at the leaf’s anticipation

For her first fling— as mine was

in a late autumn childhood.