I looked out my window this morning slowly moving towards the door… smiling, I saw the first snowfall lightly covering the back yard and exposing at its edge, new white paths into an open woods.
(It was usual autumn foliage, sensuous in its finale. Out doing summers delightful green crescendo. Very colorful introductory and passing of those two seasons can never negate spring’s promising return with greater lovers that give them birth and death. They still, however, tease her about her promiscuity).
I was delighted to see, winter keeping his engagement.
Kitchen is brewing, filling the room with the aroma of bold roast coffee. I can hear the kicking off of boots… the stocking pitter-patter of feet, of the artist, above me; carrying wood from the woodshed’s wheelbarrow, and scratching and scraping, stoking the cooling wood stove.