Frosty Morning Ii

Winter reminds me of wet coats in the hall and the smoky kitchen heat, of large logs sizzling, exerting their wetness on the hearth stone; cut fresh from the garden, they fill the flagged floor with warmth. Each morning pale yellow ashes lie like floury dust around the fireplace, a brighter yellow appears in the garden, across the street, when the rain beats upon the ash heap. From Perfume of the Soil. Swan Press, 1999.