Waiting for the Snow to Fly
All the leaves have fallen,
and the trees are bare, another
season’s gone and soon it will
be winter again. The wood is cut
and neatly piled, ready to burn
in the cozy fire, with many new
books to read and another book
to write. I long for the first snow
fall to herald my season to create,
but I wonder which book is calling
to me: a new memoir to advance
the tale of the hero’s quest, more
stories to tell the tale, or new poems
to soothe the aching soul? It doesn’t
matter what my muse decides, the
winter is mine to enjoy, and I long
to see the first snow fly from a room
of my own in our lovely home
in beautiful Georgian Bay.
No comments:
Post a Comment