Yes, the madness of squirrels
leaf-swirling, digging in their cache
(let's just love them anyway)
and hope that the marmots
and high-tailers have stashed
enough food in the rocks, deep
deep under the yellow bitterbrush.
Yes, the colors of gourds,
rattle them, toss them
and carve the pumpkins
to await the beautiful witches.
It's the time of the crone,
arriving full of orange-gold
harvest, canning, pie making,
oh the smell of cider, cookies
with woman's wisdom baked in,
all stored for winter sure to come.
May it be enough, yes,
to bridge to another spring.
leaf-swirling, digging in their cache
(let's just love them anyway)
and hope that the marmots
and high-tailers have stashed
enough food in the rocks, deep
deep under the yellow bitterbrush.
Yes, the colors of gourds,
rattle them, toss them
and carve the pumpkins
to await the beautiful witches.
It's the time of the crone,
arriving full of orange-gold
harvest, canning, pie making,
oh the smell of cider, cookies
with woman's wisdom baked in,
all stored for winter sure to come.
May it be enough, yes,
to bridge to another spring.
I so love this poem, the gathering, the preparations and, especially, "to bridge to another spring". Oh how the seasons and the years are flying past. Just beautiful, Lorna.
ReplyDelete