The snow is falling,
\nlike an hour glass,
\nit falls through time.
\nThe seasons are stitched together,
\nlife becoming a quilt.
\nThe snow lies on its bed
\nwith a black embroidery,
\nnear the pillows
\nwhere we can hear the silence,
\nfeel the solitude as it
\nfalls in sleep,
\nwhile the room watches.<\/p>\n
So the seasons change, singing.
\nThe shore of a garden.
\nThe giant shell of the moon
\ngray and wet on the sand.
\nBaskets inside life.
\nFruit and nuts and candied flowers,
\nsausages and fresh loaves
\non the table.<\/p>\n
And a little boy returns
\nsurprising me again
\nas he looks at the food,
\nthe colored paper,
\nthe dishes from the back
\nof the cupboard,
\nseeing Thanksgiving.
\nPies on the table,
\nremembering last year
\nand the harvest of all the years,
\nwith dreams of Indians and pilgrims.
\nThen he vanishes,
\nand I go about my work
\nhappy he has returned
\nto be with me on Thanksgiving.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The snow is falling, like an hour glass, it falls through time. The seasons are stitched together, life becoming a quilt. The snow lies on…<\/p>\n