Hearthstone Echoes
Setting aside my pen
I survey the books which lay about my desk in sweet disorder.
Like children sleeping on a train
they sprawl across every available surface
leaning wantonly against each other.
Leaving them in quiet, I draw the desk top down.
Tossing a shawl of woven wine across my shoulders
I step into the cold grass.
My chimney smoke drifts down among the first plum blossoms
and I follow behind.
Leaving yellow light trailing from my open door
I search the road.
Twilight rises like fog along a creek
drifting out of shadows to hug my bare feet
reaching smoky fingertips into the sweet rosemary.
A mockingbird sings in the pecan tree.
Holding every breath to hear beyond her song
I stand in the shadowed stillness.
This long, rough road lopes past my door in search of horizons
I’ve never scented
its dust still and rocks silent.
Weaving slowly side to side
I begin to conjure, trace him in the night.
He’s out there. Weary. Shoulders tight against the day.
One foot placed carefully after the other
in the determined rhythm of wind through a valley.
His dark eyes search the occasionally open windows
smile at lovers
and move on.
He’s getting closer. I can feel him, draw him
trace him in the faint spray of dust which dances across the road.
Leaning into the rugged arms of the oak
I match my breathing to his. Willing him the passion to search.
I am ready for him.
A thick cotton cloth on the claw-footed tub
washing away the ache from his shoulders.
Rosemary bread, melon, spring water
at the small table by the hearth fire.
Finally, his waiting bed
cool sheets, warm quilt.
Doors and windows lay open to the night.
Breathing carefully, listening, conjuring
I watch through moon rise to moon set.
When the mockingbird is finally silent
I withdraw to bank the fire.
Tomorrow evening I’ll lay aside my books and return.
Watching for him in the dust.
I know he’ll find me.
Hold me.
Page(s) 48-49
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