Seasons
Snow falls on a still salt cove
Steel blades carve new black ice
Words spoken in cold, silent mist
Grey and white, the color of winter
Fresh reds and greens like vapor on the trees
Robins wrestle worms on new grass
Old boat hulls sanded, caulked, painted
Sunday Congregational neighbors linger on warm stone steps
Brown leafed paths under cool maple shade
Purple fingers and wild raspberry patches
Old gardens fresh turned, damp and dark
Waves burst and the air tastes like the sea
Warm wool and the first cold breath
Fresh apple cider and smiling pumpkins
Hickory nuts and busy squirrels
Leaves the color of wonder and dance
New England my heart
I'd follow your old stone walls anywhere
