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
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