Time Off, Thoughts of Gratitude and Shiny Wooden
Boxes
Long, lingering shadows,
still, frigid nights;
crunchy uneven turf
and
Snow.
Winter settles on
New England,
with gardens long since put to bed and lawns cleared of autumn’s
leftovers,
thoughts turn inward,
find
Thanksgiving.
For family and dear friends,
work that tires bones but quiets anxious thoughts;
for strength of limb, nature’s lessons and nature’s
Healing.
Season now for making oddly shaped wooden boxes,
that shine and soar in soprano octaves
and whisper almost inaudible.
Joy.
Soon however births spring,
gardens blooming in soft, wet soil and everyone and
everything of earth, and on earth, rushing blissfully blind;
leaving little time for reflection or for funny wooden
boxes that
Sing.
