Coal Burning Fire

The 200 watt bulb illuminates
A rusting Pot Belly Stove
Snow turns to steam
Rising from the furnace
As a damp December snow
Attempts to mask it’s presence
Low ceiling clouds lie obscured
By the nights indifference
Christmas trees placed around the stove
Form a shelter against the wind
Huddling within the alcove a man
Stealing the warmth for himself
Feeding the diminishing flame
He takes a stone from the pile
Woolen fingers open the grate
Tossing a lump of coal
Into the low banked
Crimson fire
He leaves the grate open
To watch the stone ignite
Thin wisps of black flame
creep along the edges
Of burning stones
That once covered the world
As continental swamps
Teeming with Life
In the silent quintessence
Of the snowy eve
A man is pulled
Into embers
Older than his race

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Wide Rimmed, Brown, Leather Hat

Edge of a field

Just off the wood line

November leaves lie beneath

A grey skies wet snowy blanket

Bound in layers of cotton, snug

Comfortably warm

With the drone of sleet

Colliding with the few leaves

Still perched amid their trees

SOLITUDE

Brisk the breeze that

Reddens and chaps my face

Reminds me that I am alive

Sings to me of subtle beauty

And touches me with a natural smile

Grand is the power of my respect

For as the lovely Queen of nature dances

I stand captivated in joy.