Firewood in Fall

You breathe it in, the change,
wood smoke in the night air,
an utter lack of flowers,
the smell of dead leaves,
that thing that smells like rain,
but in the back of your mind you are thinking,
“It could be….”

You are armed.
There is wood behind the house,
and the stove is cleared of ash,
ready to burn bright.
There are candles in every room.
In the cellar canned vegetables abound,
bright in their glass jars.
Blankets are at the food of the bed.

But the season is not here yet.
Today the sky is clear.
There are leaves in every color,
even green. A few stray flowers linger.
by mid day, the sun is still warm and golden
on your skin
and you breathe it in,
storing the last warm days
deep in your soul, like firewood in fall.

About this poem

It’s not just about the calendar.

Tom

PS: The picture was taken just down the road from me, last winter.