November 7, 2013


The wind blusters.

The clouds are gray.

I shiver in my coat,
     yank on my hat,
          wish I'd thought to bring a scarf.

The mittens I wear are mismatched
     pink and white
and belong to one
     (perhaps both)
of my daughters.

The dog,
     I notice,
          has chewed a hole
into one thumb.

I step into the woods,
     head for the creek.

The water has risen in the rain.

I toe across flat and mossy rocks
     carefully,
          tentatively,
               trying to keep my feet dry.

I pass the bridge.
     The owl's nest.
          The fallen tree.
               And emerge.

No fishermen are at the lake
     today: The icy wind has chased them away,
          empty bait containers,
               a forgotten lure
     the only evidence that
          they were here a day ago.

The pair of ducks is gone as well,
     the widening v they cut into the calm and
          still water ripped and rippled away by the wind.

The heron, too, has disappeared,
     the bird with two grey feathers missing
     from its left wing.

     Sentenced to flights
          short and low, his feet skirt the trees as he passes
overhead.

Today, I round the lake
     alone.
          Grateful for the sudden
          appearance of the sun that
               warms my back,
   
reminding me of
     hot mugs of tea
          and the soup I have
simmering on the stove,
     a mishmash of things left over,
unedited words
     strung together
          and stirred
               and bubbled
in hopes that they'll collaborate and decide to coalesce
     into something
          of meaning.

This was written for this week's Write at the Merge prompt: "The third day comes a killing frost." ~William Shakespeare


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Writing in the Margins, Bursting at the Seams: November 7, 2013

Thursday, November 7, 2013

November 7, 2013


The wind blusters.

The clouds are gray.

I shiver in my coat,
     yank on my hat,
          wish I'd thought to bring a scarf.

The mittens I wear are mismatched
     pink and white
and belong to one
     (perhaps both)
of my daughters.

The dog,
     I notice,
          has chewed a hole
into one thumb.

I step into the woods,
     head for the creek.

The water has risen in the rain.

I toe across flat and mossy rocks
     carefully,
          tentatively,
               trying to keep my feet dry.

I pass the bridge.
     The owl's nest.
          The fallen tree.
               And emerge.

No fishermen are at the lake
     today: The icy wind has chased them away,
          empty bait containers,
               a forgotten lure
     the only evidence that
          they were here a day ago.

The pair of ducks is gone as well,
     the widening v they cut into the calm and
          still water ripped and rippled away by the wind.

The heron, too, has disappeared,
     the bird with two grey feathers missing
     from its left wing.

     Sentenced to flights
          short and low, his feet skirt the trees as he passes
overhead.

Today, I round the lake
     alone.
          Grateful for the sudden
          appearance of the sun that
               warms my back,
   
reminding me of
     hot mugs of tea
          and the soup I have
simmering on the stove,
     a mishmash of things left over,
unedited words
     strung together
          and stirred
               and bubbled
in hopes that they'll collaborate and decide to coalesce
     into something
          of meaning.

This was written for this week's Write at the Merge prompt: "The third day comes a killing frost." ~William Shakespeare


Labels: , ,

6 Comments:

At November 7, 2013 at 12:10 PM , Blogger Linda Rosen said...

Beautiful. I'd like to join you on that walk. Your words are very inviting

 
At November 7, 2013 at 12:44 PM , Blogger Kelly Garriott Waite said...

Thank you, Linda!

 
At November 7, 2013 at 2:14 PM , Blogger Roxanne said...

I love this poem. The line breaks feel like steps along the walk. Descriptive words are lovely. I was right there in the walk.

 
At November 7, 2013 at 5:38 PM , Blogger Kelly Garriott Waite said...

Thank you, Roxanne! I appreciate your reading.

 
At November 8, 2013 at 6:08 PM , Blogger Ruby Manchanda said...

Wonderful

 
At November 11, 2013 at 10:48 AM , Blogger Elisabeth Kinsey said...

Lovely. It reminds me of my walks along the Hudson.

 

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