December Poetry
December
THE lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes
Of water 'neath the summer sunshine gleamed:
Far fairer than when placidly it streamed,
The brook its frozen architecture makes,
And under bridges white its swift way takes.
Snow comes and goes as messenger who dreamed
Might linger on the road; or one who deemed
His message hostile gently for their sakes
Who listened might reveal it by degrees.
We gird against the cold of winter wind
Our loins now with mighty bands of sleep,
In longest, darkest nights take rest and ease,
And every shortening day, as shadows creep
O'er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find.
I Heard A Bird Sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.
'We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,'
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
Skating The Shaker Ponds
You know the Shakers have six ponds in the woods,
All within walking distance of each other
and from us as well,
Not to mention a seventh, mile and a half below.
All connected by ditches.
One day in December some time ago
before the snow came,
We had a spell of cold weather.
Mercury dropped to ten scratches
Beneath the hole for three nights running.
Morning of the fourth day
Snow was predicted by nightfall,
Fact was, the sky was yellow gray by eleven.
Gonna skate, gotta do it now.
Through the woods up to the North Pond.
Long and narrow, Glimmerglass smooth.
We skated the length in two minutes,
Off with skates and through some bony marsh
Onto Runaway, the largest of the seven
with an island to go around twice, then
Race down the middle to the dam.
Skates off and over a trail to the earth dam
east end of Fountain, putting in,
Skirting the shore to the spillway end.
Boots on and along the pine needled
woods road to the
Cluster of three ponds below the Village.
Snow starting.
Around the top one quick, then
Tip toe on skate points to the middle pond
where the swan lives year round now.
Over the dam dropping right onto the lower pond,
Skating into a snow swirl that skimmed the ice,
starting to stick to the shore.
We called it quits.
Inch of snow on the ground by the time we got home.
We buttered up hot rum and maple syrup
Sprinkled with cinnamon, sat by the stove saying,
We should do that again, take in Carding Mill too.
But we never have.
That was twenty years ago.
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Life is a tale told by an idiot...
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