Frost

Frost edges
the oak leaves.

The sun rises in chilled air.

Maybe November
is silver.

Kitty settles on the register
to soak in the warmth of home.

It's a good day to stay home...

...and read my favorite poet.

Coincidence
his name is Frost?











I remember Frost's Mending Wall
I biked by in New Hampshire
just two short months ago...

...as the long bike ride neared the end

and I so hungered for home.













I read my Frost...

"Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days..."

Ah, Robert,
my love of November
is warm kitties in the sun.

Birds fill the feeders
fluttering for food
to warm their cold bellies.















It's a good night
for candles...

...our first night of candles
at Brixton

Small flames for warmth and light...


And we watch the sun set now
over the branches of home.