Threads
The afternoon dissolves to darkness,
suddenly the downpour tumbles
and the spouts regurgitate.
Willows tilt and elm trees tremble,
intertwine, then disassemble,
all awash in green and gray,
threads of nature cast asunder,
unattached they dance and scatter
at the dimming of the day.
Hedges stripped, once meshed together,
tree tops tussle in the fray,
the kettle sings a screaming descant,
shrieking o'er the storm's foray, and listen
to the cabin creaking, squeaking loud
as if to say, I'll bear this, and so much more.
Windows gray with condensation,
all are safe and warm before the fire.
Comfort is not relegated,
greatcoats hang from studded rafters,
scarves and mufflers blend together,
boots and slickers for the brave ones,
regimented rows aligned.
Now there's stew and home-made biscuits,
mugs of cocoa laced with rum,
a cure for nature's howl and hum.
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