when I leave the cottage in winter

2 Apr

wpid-20150401_092833.jpg
The world
holds its arms open
and I fall in-
to the branches of a tree,
leaning my cheek on its bare
limbs while tumbling

sheets and towels,
warm-scented and wonderful,
punctuate my departure,
marking the end of my
solitude, birds

now silent,
reverent or resting, the
sky now infinite,
colorful, constant
as morning
over the lake,
meaning

it’s time for me
to stand up and fold
towels,
to pack up and go
home
while the ice melts
from the eaves.

National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days

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