Campfire

Our backyard patio has a small wood burning fire-pit.  Fall is peak season for using it because the evenings are cool and dark comes early.  My husband loves tending the fire, watching the flames, and listening to the logs pop.  For the kiddos it’s 99% about the s’mores.   For me?  Read on…

Campfire

Warm front.  Cold back.

                I turn around.

Warm back.  Cold front.
                I turn around.

I lean against Mom,

my head on her shoulder.
                Warm all over.

                Christine O’Connell George, Toasting Marshmallows

Wild Goose

"Silly goose" has been a playful phrase in my family since my own childhood.  As I bundle up against the November chill, perhaps it's time to rethink my choice of expressions.

Wild Goose

He climbs the wind above

    green clouds of pine,

Honking to hail the

    gathering migration.

And, arching towards the

    south, pulls to align

His flight into the great

    spearhead formation.

He’ll find a bayou land of

    hidden pools,

And bask amid lush fern

    and water lily

Far from the frozen world

    of earth-bound fools

Who, shivering, maintain

    that geese are silly.

Written by Curtis Heath, Leaf by Leaf (Selected by Barbara Rogasky)

October Saturday

About four times each autumn, my family experiences a day like the one in Bobbi Katz's 'October Saturday.'  I understand that for some people a yard full of fallen leaves is just one more hassle in our already busy lives.  Though my back aches in the evening, I privately look forward to the Saturdays where we're all out in the yard raking (and jumping in!) together.  Much nicer than pulling weeds in July, don't you think?

October Saturday

All the leaves have turned to cornflakes.

It looks as if some giant’s baby brother
had tipped the box
and scattered them upon our lawn –
millions and millions of cornflakes –
crunching, crunching, under our feet.
When the wind blows,
they rattle against each other,
nervously chattering.

We rake them into piles –
Dad and I.
Piles and piles of cornflakes!
A breakfast for a whole family of giants!
We do not talk much as we rake –
a word here –
a word there.

The leaves are never silent.

Inside the house my mother is packing

short sleeved shirts and faded bathing suits –
rubber clogs and flippers –
in a box marked SUMMER.

We are raking.
Dad and I.
Raking, raking.
The sky is blue, then orange, then gray.
My arms are tired.
I am dreaming of the box marked SUMMER.


- Bobbi Katz, The Place My Words Are Looking For (Selected by Paul B. Janeczko)