A Fall Sunday at Home

Fall blew in on a Northern wind
And made himself to home.

Take a hot shower, hot chocolate...
Hot water bottle under the blankets in bed.

Morning dawns, I'm warm and cozy,
Dip a toe into the cool pool of air and pull back, shivering.

Wood warms a body three times
He says as he heads out, axe in hand
Once in the cutting
Once in the stacking
The third time as it burns.

Hot soup on the table when he returns home at noon,
Pulling my warm hands to his freezing cheeks.

I listen to Prairie Home Companion as I clean,
Ostroushko's mandolin, melancholy flowing from its' strings.

Relax with a cozy mystery book in hand,
Snuggled up on the couch under an afghan.

Night falls early, dark sky clear,
All warmth races away into the stratosphere.