Ode to a Woodstove

ODE TO A WOODSTOVE

Sitting by the warmth of a wood stove
in the North Country.

Hearing squirrels chatter
and watching wafts of smoke
linger and spread their fingers
earthward and outward.

I sat in stillness.

Listening-----Listening-----Listening.

Raindrops pittered and pattered
against the cedar-shake shingles.

A dark, dreary, glacier-gray day
hung over the valley.

The skies cried tears of joy and sadness.
A cloud of solitude was seen
embracing and kissing the earth

I was alone.
I was lone---ly but

The loneliness
filled me
with a sweet
warmth.