Winter Fire

.

I am the water

you draw from your well –

steep me

into your tea.

.

I am the slice of hot toast

on your plate –

let me melt

your fresh apple butter.

.

I am the evergreen

on your morning walk –

breathe me

into your shadow.

.

I am the eyes

meeting yours in the marketplace –

see the pangs

of my hunger.

.

I am the line

down the middle of your road –

follow me

through the desert.

.

I am the match

that lights your winter fire –

catch my sparks

in a jar.

.

I am the shooting star

in your fevered night –

wish for me

one more time.

.

.

(c) 1995, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post, revised….)

 

.

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Winter Solstice

.

Frosty colors

fall like snow

through trees —

 

precipitations of sun

filling the tangle

of briar and wood.

.

A lone sprite sings

her winter song

as doves wing overhead,

 

their tail feathers spread

to polish the lens

of the sky.

.

.

(c) 1996, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

.(Re-posted from 2011, revised.)

.

Happy Winter Solstice!!  🌲 🌞 🌲

(And to our friends south of the equator a Happy Summer Solstice! 😎 )

Wishing everyone a peaceful holiday season!

 

 

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Feral

.

She puts food

outside her door

for the cats

and raccoons

and the Scrub Jays –

.

and for all

who leave soft

wild footprints

in the frost.

.

.

(c) 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

.

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Between Junes

.

Afternoon gloom —

I know it will soon

be time to tread the snowy path home.

.

A distant candle

lights the way

to my fire, my books, and my love.

.

And tomorrow the sun

will rise a bit sooner

dispelling the darkness a little bit longer,

.

melting away

the frostbitten edge

of this unsung penumbra of night.

.

.

(c) 1988, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(An old, unpublished poem, taken out of mothballs.)

.

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New-fallen

.

I still remember

your winter mourning

when you were dark-empty

.

and I reached

through the ether

and wrapped my arms

around your shadow

tasting your hard tears

.

and you stood taller than light

with grief,

new-fallen and noble

as the snow.

.

.

(c) 1994, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

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Autumn Leaving

.

Falling brittle down

through the fog

I crack and break.

.

You take me carefully

to your hearth

once more –

we knew I’d never last

till winter.

.

When the fog lifts

I crumble,

await another spring.

.

.

(c) 1982, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(From 1982, never before published, so pretend it’s new. 😉 )

.

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Endurance

..

.

 Birch trees catch my eye

deep in the trough of winter

white bark withstanding.

.

.

©  2014, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

Partial of an original watercolor by my grandmother,

Lilly Bjornstad.  (She painted this when she was about 100.  She lived to 108.)

.

(re-post)

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Time Out

.

They leak out

from the calendar –

seconds, minutes lost.

They steal away

into the fog

and freeze to winter’s frost.

.

I close my eyes

and there’s an hour

missing from the day.

It turned into

a floppy kite

and spring blew it away.

.

Dripping

through my fingers

another day has gone,

evaporated

yesterday

from summer’s placid pond.

.

And soon a year

has fallen

bright confetti on the ground

and I wonder

if we’ll ever have

the time to just slow down.

.

.

© 1992, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(….and another 26 years has flown by since writing this….)

.

(a re-post)

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Trees in Winter

.

Are they really lifeless

those empty arms

of winter

branching leafless

in naked grace?

Gaia says no,

that deep in frozen dreams

memories thicken,

sweet syrup

of other times gone

and dreams to come.

Till then these aching limbs

reach out to the silence,

bare

but not barren.

.

.

© 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

(a re-post)

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Winter Solstice

.

Underneath the frost it turns

hidden in a fog it churns

winter snaps its coiled whip

cracks the ice but holds its grip.

It wraps the trees in shiver beads

chews on shadows, spits out seeds

to grace the gardens flocked in sleep

waiting for that northward leap

of the wandering, prodigal sun.

.

.

© 2014, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright

.

Wishing everyone a gentle Winter’s Solstice

and a peaceful celebration of the holidays – the holy days –

whichever days are sacred to you. 

For in the end, each day is sacred and precious.  

 

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