Dad's Last Stand

 In memory of my father, Frances Merle Weber 1908 - 1999　


I got up that morning same as always
Kind of surprised I was still around
Well, breakfast for one more day anyways
Cereal and evaporated milk and pearl tea, half a banana…
When I think back now I’d been talkin’ ‘bout dyin’ for quite some time
My brother, Bill, dropped dead of a heart attack at forty-six, so
I kind of thought the same thing might happen to me.
　
I was always talkin’ ‘bout my heart givin’ out so that
No one would be too surprised, kind of warning them you see
I never thought I’d be livin’ yet at almost ninety-one
Oh, I could be ornery, I know that and most of the time
I kind of liked to just be alone, no one to bother me
But I did like it when the kids would come home to visit
And I tried to put on a cheerful face most of the time when they did come ‘round.
　
　
I‘d had a dream one night ‘bout a big house with all kinds of room
Thought it was Maw had come to get me and was showin’ me around
The ceilings were awful high, and I wondered why you’d waste all that space!
Guess it was a dream, thought it was, but it seemed different than that
Kind of like I was really there.
　
Later there was a lady came in the laneway and she was the one
Found me lyin’ on my face next to the tree at the back
Where I used to wash up after hayin’
Just fell down and stayed there, that was it then.
Saved Glenn findin’ me, was better that way.
I stayed around ‘til they called Gun and Carol, they had to
Get the police to come and make all that fuss,
Hardly seemed worth all that bother.
What else did they expect to happen when it was
An old bugger like me?

Ninety-one, imagine that.
Well I finally got to go see Maw.
They done ‘er up right, nice funeral like Maw’s was…
I always told them not to feel bad, made me feel bad
To see them all standin’ round cryin’.
　
Well I sure had enough time.
　
Nice up here in this here mansion with the tall walls…
Awful nice seein’ Maw again 'a course
Still don’t see why they wasted all this space.

with love

cailin raine

Like Creeping Charlie

She had lived her life tidily
Never shifting from the parental molding
Careful not to stretch too far beyond the brink.
Slowly the stiffening had entered somewhere
Inwardly she had shifted into pain and then
Found a constant companion in grief
When had the happiness melted away?
Like the ice on the old pond up over the back pasture.

One day she sat by a stream and let the cold water
Sift against her toes, cool and clean and new
And realized that she had stopped feeling
Had butted the flow of life inside of herself
Until she no longer knew who she was.

Why had she let the mold lie in her chest like stone
Encased in a hardness that did not allow tears?
Why had she let their opinions matter when her own heart
Had words beyond description and rays stronger than the sun?

She took the hand of her tiny boy and walked home
With a new awareness, a new hope
She would not let them stifle her any more
It was her life and her heart and she gave her spirit
Back to herself.
　　
Inside the house the sun entered through the rear kitchen window
She peered out at the lawn rippled in tufts of incessant weed
It was like looking into the window of her soul
She saw the Creeping Charlie that had spread all the way to the fence.

She walked out to the tool shed and took the hoe from the rack
With renewed strength she hoed all that Creeping Charlie
Pulled and hacked and ripped and cut until there was not a shred of it
Left behind.

cailin raine

The Earthen Way

Above me the herb-scented ceiling reeks

Of sage and scent and I suck and breathe in

Heavenly earthen aroma

Rafter-dry hanging bundles dangle with dust

Wood begetting arid plants of healing, health, and sustenance

And I breathe.

On the slanted cool of wooden chair supported and snug I sit

Comfort arms stroke me and I lean back on the straightness

Heady with the wood and the scent and the earth

I revel in its firmness and inhale the silence

And I breathe.

Pots and pots

Pile upon pile

They line up the walls

Pottery soldiers holding high, strutting in procession

Stacked according to size

They frame and fill the wooden wallboards

With smooth crockery sienna warmth

Hinting of a pregnant promise of growth

And better things to come!

Wicker bushel basket bursting

With the dryness of bundled fennel, savory, and thyme

Rosemary, lavender, parsley, peppermint

My tongue and senses are sharpened

I ache with the love of it!

And I breathe.

　

Wooden slats of floor beneath my feet

Bare-pressed against the coolness

Yet another earthen promise there to feel

In my toes and in my soul!

I worship the silence

I succumb to the dizzy scent

And I breathe.

pen name ~ cailin raine

Colleen Weber

To My Man

When you love me

Savour each moment and taste

The sweetness, let it linger

On your lips, feel the softness

Silky and sweet, my hair against your skin

Don't waste an instant of the ecstasy

But feel our closeness, reaching

Straining towards the joy of living

One another's heartbeat, and crying

Inside one another's tears, smile

At me when the pulsing is over and

Still hold me close.

Don't turn away, don't be afraid of me

But search my soul in the softness of

Our after love and trace my face

My life before you, I am open to

Your touch, and want your love

To rise again and possess me with

Wanted force and sweet possession

And yet I am free within your embrace

To soar the heights which our love

Makes possible, take me again

And again to that place where joy is full

And immense, how I yearn for your arms

Around me in earnest desire and mad yearning

Come to me with animal passion and tender, sweet

Giving touches, exquisite because you want me

As much as I want you.

cailin raine

If I Walk

If I walk the man-made dikes atop the grass grown wild

And wander along those pathways worn by hunters, men

I trod on the soil of labour and I reach into their souls

Excitement burning in me because I stroke their world.

The wind tosses my darkened curls about my face

My eyes turned skyward trace the clouds and the hawks

As one they soar sky high and daring, elevated beyond

The daily endurance and drudgery of day by day routine.

I am caught in the magic and I do not want to leave

This land of sacred heron and proud, white crane

The geese honk and chatter, the ducks fake a startle

A parade of sound and performance as I watch spellbound.

How I wish to be a part and not a spectator

To take the wind in my hands and hold it

To take the long, wild grasses and clasp them

To feel the languid waters against my soul and…keep it all for me!

I walk on and on and I never want to go

I want to keep these minutes, I want to climb into

The heart of them and stay to watch the maple leaves

Turn crimson and then fall softly to the carpet beneath.

I do not want to miss a single breath of it

I lean to touch the bark and caress the roughness

Against my cheek - I can feel the spirit stirring within

And does he wish to hold me just the same?

The golden rod and nannyberry, the dogwood and sumac

The wild apple smell in my nostrils makes me dizzy

The kind of buzz I could crave forever

I walk and walk and I do not miss a beat.

Dragonflies flit and land, dart and dash about me

Big, striped bees land on my shoulder and I gently push them on

Hawks bravely dip and hover, waiting for their mates

Nature itself is clapping aloud.

The sky is still blue and it is hours since I rested

I know my body commands me to take it home

The sun shimmers still even though the afternoon is dying

Ending, always ending, the things that I love all seem to leave.

One last long, sweeping gaze and I must depart

Back to a world where busy is the order of the day

I long for the disarray of tumbling weed and grass

The surprise of hidden bridge and concealed creeks.

If I walk in this Hullett place I remember the best

Of all the places that I have ever been

If I walk in this marshland space I am cleansed

And I go freely back to where I came from.

cailin raine

Winter Icing

　
Frosting glimmering on icy limbs light with shimmer,
Branches heavy under ice coats of milky white
Shiny in the dancing, glancing early morning sun rays,
Each twig encased in precious layers of nature’s icing sugar.

Matching stone-like snow banks sit like
Hardened, shellacked meringue,
Frozen into delightful curves as if
Nature’s knife has designed and then suspended its work.

The sound of silence echoes softly across
The still fields sparkling, rimmed with statue fences
Locked in the glossy embrace of cold, watery fingers
Sprinkled with sun-dappled frothiness.

Patterns and designs frozen in snowflake precision
Scattered across the surfaces of wood and water,
A masterpiece complete as if chiseled with effort,
Instead, sprung upon us sweetly in effortless surprise.

Nature smartly grinning in stunning performance
Smiling in supreme satisfaction and smirking, a little,
But then, slowly her artistry gives way to another timeless luster,
The slow, gradual melting nod as Nature sighs, “Adieu!”

cailin raine

Blood-Story In The Snow

The animals dreamed of us
Near the mouth of the den at the end of acres
Fur-scattered rug of snow
Doored the entrance to the blood-stinking lair
The kill had been plain.
Snowshoes stopped in tandem, our breath hot on the air
They were still there, spirit-sneaking near us with hot-kill energy, Sparking crystal-lights of fire in the fine, blood-misted snow.

We read the story, slowly tracking the deep-dots of
Prints struck hard against the ice
Deep-melted in the dark-rooted soil
Marks of shiny-struggle and the deer’s last day.
She slowly going down like the final sun
Loathe to give up her last beating-breath
Heart in her mouth, eyes shedding fear
Other eyes lacing hers from across the creek
Glitter of life within, tenderly walking towards her closing cry.

The pack had taken her in bits and in pieces, yipping and yowling
A bone-chilling-kill in the soft-falling night, dusk-settling
Daring to pierce her flesh, rip her sweet, mottled hide
Red-blood drip-spotting first the blaring whiteness of snow
Misting the glitter-prints of coyote paw, desperate heaving-hoofs
Patterning the killing-field with her last effort to cling
Where life had given dawn, and frolic, and saucy dance.
The going down was long… her struggle brave and valiant
She did not give her life freely, but death was her gift in the end.

The slayers slumber with shiny, blood-glistened tongues
Hot blood-breath against the darkness, now deep and black
The pack lies silent in succulence, bellies full
Beside the carcass left alone in bone-brittle defiance
She, passed on to a better dream, whole and full and finished.
Killers seamed in survival-flesh beneath blood-smeared fur
Living inside the wolf-wisdom of ancestors lurking in the past
Cunning and clever, each pup full-tummied against fertile female
Alpha-dreams dance in the hot-bellied den, dawn seeking another day.
The animals dream of us.

Menesetung

The Sign said “Laughing Water” and I stopped to listen…
Indeed there was a chattering far down below the bridge
Where the water danced its way along the rocky bottom,
Babbling this and prattling that, it bounced a path of life.

It’s at the Piper’s Dam they say there is a deep, Black Hole…
“Bottomless” says the legend, unknown, immeasurable.
Just think, a fathomless crater-like cavity filled with inky
Water, sightless molecules smothered in blind irrigation.

The Maitland water is pretty and calm where the dam used to be…
Once there was a busy mill and people bustled, came and went,
Work continuing in normalcy while a deep, dark cavernous hole
Sat hidden beneath the water, like a limp secret sitting in solitude.

Now a slab of flat stone sits reminding us of where the mill once stood
And weeds, tall grass, erosion work at obliterating even those remains
But the memories lurk and you can almost see the men in trousers, boots
Buzzing like bees, resembling Mennonites, knowing how to get it done.

On a back road on the way home to where I live, there is a house…
Tiny, tumbling into disarray, sad in countenance and lopsided.
Its windows are piled high with mumble jumble, relics, refuse,
Clutter crammed into cracks and holes, a carnival of rubbish.

I muse about the way our lives are like the aging of old buildings
Like the tumble-down shanty, no longer able to stand without leaning
Or like the river, where buried in its unreachable depths there
Is a spot of darkness where no light can enter and mystery remains.

cailin raine

Moon Belly Dancing

Shadows of children dancing beneath my belly

In ethereal moonlight

Full moon shining on my pillow

Making me dream of young days

When my stomach was in rhythm

With the moon and the prowling world of men.

My heart is wistful because the moon no longer moves

My body into fertile response

The cycle is gently winding down

To another pathway of shadowy lane

Where the ghosts of children who might have been

Dance one more time to my heartbeat

Before they must leave and move on

Past this life chance to another.

Some other woman body will hold

Some other female cup will mold and mother

But not me, not mine, not my breast.

We have done this belly dance for so long

These ghosts and I, they, spirits on

The other side, dancing, dancing ‘round

My mother soul, waiting, wanting to be born.

Now they see the slowing and the tender sadness

Now they see me stoop, a little

Mother soul calls out in ancient longing

A rhythm never to be forgotten

A rhyming and a singing always in my heart!

There were more you see

More babies to cuddle and hold.

My belly groans with goodbye.

cailin raine

The Ink Bottle

It's been a long, dry spell, sometimes I think
The well has all dried up
Ink, cracked, stuck to the insides of the blue bottle
Crusted with age and lack of use
It sits at the edge of the desk, brushed aside like cobwebs
The blue glass worn and brown in spots
No pen in it, for the pens have strewn themselves about the house
For other uses, like scribbling on calendars or scraps of paper.

No place holds the honour of the writer's desk
Dust sits by the stacks of papers and books
Items tossed in disarray, no care given to order and polish
Clutter and muss mimic the fuzzy thoughts in my head
Translated to paper now, they would be mushy and old
Leaden in their delivery, my limbs feel the same
My hands move to type, but the letters are heavy
Too heavy for form, too leaden to live, weary from hoping
For the change that lurks somewhere just outside my grasp.

Through the window at the back of my den I can see fall
Sitting in a shroud behind its sister summer
The scene is framed in navy cotton, curtains that are still
Closed to the breezes because of the chill outside.

But I will walk the beaches yet in sweet September air
Letting the coolness penetrate from sand through the soles of my feet
I will sit and watch the waves in their endless laps against the shore
Forests will call my name and I will go to feel the sanctuary there
Once again my pen will move, the bottle will shine with polish
The keys will move in rhythm, the books lined up in order
And again, the magic of words will flow into rhyme, line after line.

cailin raine

Distance

Distance sat in the room like an entity
She had disguised herself as belonging
Pretending to know what she belonged to
Tiny, soft-in-dust rays slid through the high window
In a feathery , soothing mockery of her trying
Trying yet again to feel like she fit in.
Ineptness sat heavily like sodden oatmeal
Clinging to the sides of her, filling her middle
Making it doughy like fresh bread, but there was
A hard, impermeable crust perched on the outer edge.

She had worn this shell in turtle-like fashion for so long
It seemed like she had been born with a covering
Perhaps had been a changeling after all, this substitute
Which sat in typical appearance was really a faery child
Trying to be normal, trying hard to span the distance
Between herself and the others who all spoke with a sameness
A casualness, a “rightness” which she had never been able to mimic.

She sat wondering what it was that made the difference
What had created the forever distance, the detachment…
Inside were pools of warm and bubbling waters, love-drenched
Inside there was a joy-spring of caring and wanting to share
Inside welled the urge to merge and trust and be a part
But humanity loomed like a stranger in the distance.

Maybe it was just too late, too hard to take that step and creep up the stairway
Her heart pounded as she stood on faery toes to look out the upper pane
The paths wound gently from this stone room, down, down towards a pretty river
It flowed into the distance in a dancing, merry gesture that beckoned!
Her heart beat fast, her feet felt slippery, her breath came in tiny gusts
She steadied herself and then she took the stairs... one at a time.

cailin raine

Barrels and Broomsticks

There is a world that I know, beyond the everyday grind of busy and bustle
It is the real life that I live in my head, sometimes hidden and sometimes
Celebrated, that is when I dare to let the curtain rise and I enter unannounced
The me that lets the wind blow and filter through my cotton, white nightgown
When the moon rises high and full and I gather my witches’ spirits together
We drift in the clouds and lie in the sweet, warm grass of herb, stone, and sages
The lot of us…drifting in and out of the wind, stopping to see and listen.

By day I sweep the porch and savor the wood smell, the pine, and broomstick
The smell of straw pricks my nose with its raw texture of grainy wheat, heat
That sends the earthy messages of scents in the breeze and fairies in the rain
I watch my dusty bare toes and relish the brownness of my skin, I am akin
To the Mother of the earth and to the Father of the sky, both shining within me
Alive in the glimmer of my eyes, breathing in the breath of my soul, loving me…
I dance when the chores are done, and think of rabbits in the moonlight.

Soup stews on the stove, old relic of polished, blackened iron, sturdy and solid
I am strong, my bones are mine and the bones of my children grow in vigorous
Worship of the night and of the gods and of healing and life, laughter and love
Sunlight drifts across my kitchen, spirits dance in the beams above the floor
Bread rises to bronzed perfection and I taste the melting butter on crust
He comes from the loft, to share this supper, I watch his blond curls, his throat
Later, his brown hands are strong on my skin, darkness creeps across the bed.

The rain begins softly, tapping lightly the tin of the roof at the back verandah
Its song caught in a torrent that flails itself, sweet water brimming the barrels
Giant drops splatter and bounce on my swept, old-wood boards of the porch
I lean against his length in catlike content, his body smells warm, musky like mine
We watch this rain dance together, lost in the enchantment of the night
He gathers me close in his manly-scented embrace, his lips against my hair
I feel again the passion that we bring to our love, we are lost in life itself.

cailin raine

November 17th, 2009

Some days the clock ticks faster,
Thoughts and deeds and errands and phone calls all pile on top of each other
You end up somewhere later than you would have liked.

The trail stretched enticingly before me laid out in a packed brown dirt ribbon
Boots smacked snow, gravel gritted against the leather grain
Afternoon sun gleamed lower and lower in a late sky
Old railroad ties mark a gate beneath my stride, one by one
On and on I hurry-trudge… marking time because time has hurried so
Hardwood leans over me, topping the trail in a canopy of late November green
I span the concessions in no-time, thoughts leaking from jumble to fresh clarity
Night is falling-fast, all around me, and I have turned to backtrack
Loping the path, car waiting low in its bronze and autumn sheen
The quiet lulling me into content, …silent enjoyment that could not last.

Shrill yelps pierced the air like fresh knives, cutting my thoughts to ribbon shreds
Cries in unison, the pack was out for the early evening hunt, bent on kill
Killing spoke itself into their voices, overlapping, layers shrill in the night air
Squeezing into my heart and my breath and sitting at the edge of my soul
Fresh Cape Breton tragedy news reeling in my mind, freezing my calmness into panic!

I ran
I ran fast and hard, boots smacking strong now, casting all carefulness into survival
Thoughts operated above my head on another level
The coyotes would be out for their evening meal, trained, bent on winning the prize
Swift and lean and strong determination cut the air in energy strands, electric
I could feel them…
The beat of my boots kept time to their never-wavering cries, they would eat
I just hoped it would not be me.

Suddenly their yelps stopped in time to my never-stopping quick steps, on, on
I fervently prayed and hoped in my heart that their prey had been some poor rabbit
And that they were not quietly stalking me, now, getting closer to my heels
In a silence stealthy, cunning, ... my mind told me they would have gotten their kill
But I could not quit until my hand wrenched open my car door and my body sat
Stinging and tired and played out against the welcome softness of the seat
Sighing, the steel ness of the car around me a comfort, cold, protective
The engine purred to life, and the wheels turned around and around
The headlights shone the way through normal traffic,

I was going home.

cailin raine

The Angels' Song

So long I stood in darkness ‘til the Lord lit up my sight
I looked and saw the angels - stand in ethereal light
Again I looked and then perceived the angels ‘round His throne
Thousands, millions sang His songs and no one stood alone
‘Round His throne they stayed and sang with all their heavenly might
All living beings were singing, what a glorious, wondrous sight!

In the end all fell to worship and the bells of heaven rang
Every knee was bent in gratitude, still the angels sang and sang
The Light had shed all darkness and every heart was pure
I knelt in utter love for Him, as the angels' songs rang sure
I melted into gladness as His arms surrounded me
And walked across the streets of gold, right into Eternity.

Colleen Weber

pen name ~ cailin raine

Alkaso City

I was drawn into that place with dust in my face
Kinda haggard and worn out by then
Quite a sight on that old mule, sorry for him
But sorrier for myself.
Oh I knew I was selfish, but that didn’t bother me none
Just wanted to lay my head down on a pillow
With the company of a woman who was willin’.

First bar I seen was like dishes piled up in a stained sink
Stinkin’ and dirty, the noise was like static on an old radio
But it felt like home to me!
Couldn’t wait to tie up Norton, and settle myself on a bar stool
I ordered my first drink in miles, and belted back a cold snort.

How did I end up like this?
Once I had a kinda decent life
Never mind that now, got past wishin’ a long time ago
Got my face in the perfume of a woman’s neck
So my head doesn’t have to think no more, not right now anyways
I’ll wake up in the morning with the slimy grime of cheap lovin’
But some of the ache will be gone, and maybe then I can clear up my head a bit.
Told the old kitchen hand to throw the slop to Norton
Maybe the stable boy bedded him down out of mercy
Like this whore beside me, everyone has some kind of purpose.

Lookin’ out now at the sun shining hard on the porch out back
First time I noticed the sky in ages
Kind of surprised that the woman stayed around
Even brought me taters and grits for breakfast
And hot, strong coffee that stayed in my guts.
She’s sweepin’ out the cabin by the shed, for me, she said.

Maybe I’ll hang around here for a bit, Alkaso might grow on me
Same way her eyes locked onto my face is kinda growin’ on me
Didn’t think I had anything in myself left to give.

Could be wrong again.
　

Colleen Weber

pen name ~ cailin raine

　
　

Driving Alone At Night

Motor humming like my mind…my body buzzing in its seat

Everything moving and yet, everything is still.

Even my heartbeat is indiscernible

The road blends into the landscape and the grasses at the edge

Blur into the centre line…all is one, purring, being joined together

It is the only oneness that I have.

My mind escapes this bond…jumps out over the fences and beyond

Where I have then to look! I have to look at all the yellow lights

Within the cozy homes I pass. The lights beckon me to a another life

With family, time, and togetherness. But I am so alone.

It is those lights that cut me quick

They cut into a part of my soul

That I do not want touched

The part that still quivers

Because my family is gone…that bond is broken and there is no way to fix it.

The lights tell me that there are still those who live that homely life

Behind their snug, curtained windows…curtains that can never hide

The cozy, yellow lights all lined up one after another

In a kind of order that my life now lacks.

I do not want to be reminded of the lack

I do not want to have to look at all those pretty, yellow lights.

Colleen Weber

Pen name ~ cailin raine (1990)

　

Eight Sister Willow Trees

Eight, willow sisters lean in grandness, wispy branches sweeping low
Backed by marsh and mirrors and geese, ducks quacking with content
I stand in awe, there is nothing like a new trail
One I have never been on before…and all the sights
Are fresh and filled with wonder, airy and full of the soft-falling
Night, …the day is darkening, barely perceptible, but evening
Comes softly in shadows and quiet and a calmness that is sweet.

The gravel trail has a loud crunch beneath my hiking boots
The sky is feathered in sprays of white against the soft, pale blue
I sit on the one wooden bench, perched high above the marsh
And watch the silver shooting star, the jet climbing straight up
Its double streak is white and etched with blank spots, tufts now
Below it, black birds glide against the backdrop of dewy night ness
I lean back and smell the cider fragrance of rotting apples fallen.

I trudge on, and watch the blond corn standing still, waiting, all done growing,
Knowing inside the dried-out cobs and the light-stained, yellow leaves
That harvest time will again change the landscape to barren and brown.
Sumacs sit empty of their crimson last stand, bare, furry branches stilled
The backdrop of soft, yielding, white pine trees offer an oasis of green
Verdant abundance amongst the grey and brown, bare, deciduous branches.
High above, the half-moon caps the tranquility with its own stillness.

I stop, staggered, when I spot the doe, she standing like a statue
Trying to outsmart the hunter in orange, hidden way back in the bush.
The contrast is harsh, and I call to her, warning her of her vivid enemy
I am bold, I yell at him loudly, “ I hope you don’t get her!” I scream
It fits the night air, like it knows my meaning, I am sticking up for
One of her own, and the doe runs then to the thicket, and soon I see
The bobcat crouched in the tall grass, she too avoids the strangeness…
Something invades the privacy of nature-filled creation, an oddity now
That lurks in the air, the suggestion of gunpowder, and the stark, orange glare.
Invaders intruding in this artistry softly framed by the graceful, bowing
Branches of the eight, willow, sister trees, trying vainly to stand guard.

Colleen Weber

Pen name ~ cailin raine

AppleWood Fire

The apple wood fire is different

I’ve coaxed a fire in late fall,

Slender sticks cut from Dad’s dead apple tree.

Surprising sweet scent accosts the nostrils

Worms its way inside your nose,

Fills you with sugary warmth

Akin to maple syrup on warm pancakes,

Aroma wafting towards your face

A subtle caressing of skin and sharpened senses,

…blossoms in your mind.

The wood stove crackles and snaps

Like the branches on the summer, apple tree.

Warmth penetrates and permeates

Inching its way into corners and cracks and closets.

I fetch a plaid throw blanket from the cold spare room

And find the apple coziness there too.

Apple wood burns and gives a sweetness which

Hangs snugly in cinnamon air.

The room is bathed in applesauce gold

I am curled in slumber on the grey, fur rug, toes content

Soft warmed hands like dough

Hair coiled like leaves about baby apples,

I am caught in apple wood magic flames.

Sleep comes easily in front of the hearth

I dream of other gifts

Like the magic of sea grass turned silver

And waves that lap beneath the moon rising high

On a summer night when beach sand holds the warmth of the sun.

My brown, bare toes quivering, kissed by the night dew as

I dance beside the shimmering, blazing waves.

Outside the frost burns white

On orange, shrunken pumpkins.

pen name ~ cailin raine