Oven belly churning,
heating the kitchen for
currant cream scones.
Outside, gales knock leaves
to the wet dark earth.
Blue sky hides behind the storm.
Standing barefoot on tile,
I, half cold,
half smile–
dreaming of wool scarves and snow
and white plumes of breath
at the bus stop in the morning.
Advertisements
Good Post.
Thank you 🙂
welcome
I am transported to a chilly world which I am never in, living in the sub tropics. Lovely memories and great poem.
Ah, the tropics will be sounding very pleasant to me in about 3 months! Thanks for stopping by. 🙂