Wood For The Fire

Cold cloudy day
to begin with,
wind from the east,
snow wrapping up
overnight's proceedings,
distances misted over,
footsteps slow
along the ravine,
gathering the droppings
of bare gaunt trees -

but then a slow thaw,
sky clearing,
sun late to the affair
but making up to me
with temperatures almost human,
enough, at least,
to break the brook free
of its icy cover,
quicken my pace,
and attract a crow
to doings on the ground -

every moment,
the cruel and the kind,
make clear to me
their intention,
to be the weather
around here
that I must
walk out in,
no more and no less
until the firewood
comes home.

 

Wood For The Fire

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John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Front Range Review, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Abyss and Apex and Midwest Quarterly.
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