what’s missing
I can see the wind waving the trees
but can’t hear it
the cabin walls tight
though not warm –
we need the crackle
of fire
Tag: Cabin
inviting fire
inviting fire
in the cabin it’s warm
but not cozy
the crackle and flicker
the exuberance of combustion
are missing
sometimes fire sits with us
like an old friend
sometimes it levels us
poof
all up in smoke
natural dissonance
natural dissonance
the irony isn’t lost on me
running the air purifier
and the oven self-clean cycle
simultaneously:
we all do our best
to manage our inconsistencies
in the dark
under the stars
Fennec is tense with listening
uncomfortable to be out in the wild night
but curious what’s here
inside, the boys squabble over
who can help rip out the carpet
Alex says it’s like Huck Finn
but we all breathe easier
when the orange shag’s removed
at the spring
we all look up and know
this is why we’re here
first night at the cabin
first night at the cabin
burning our wedding candle
twenty-one years later
at nine thousand feet
surrounded by snow
the flame gives me joy
I don’t worry it will go out
or burn the house down
I just admire
its warm glow
on my bare skin
Escape
Escape
I’m dreaming of a little place
in tall trees
lit by sunshine and snow
and golden aspen light
a place so flush with water
it bubbles out of the ground
and you can float on a pond
when you need to let go
I’m dreaming of a small space
with not too much to burn
that heats up quick
with the strike of a match
I’m dreaming of a break
from ash and scrap
where I can settle my head
deep into down
and dream blue white green dreams
where all breezes are innocent
all sparks kept to the stove
buying cold
buying cold
she tells me doubtfully
it’s pretty dark
it’s back in the trees
that area holds onto snow
I grin
she suggests a different place
now this place over here –
this one’s sunny and bright
dry (but windy)
it melts out a lot earlier
I explain patiently
we’re looking for a little refrigerator
where we can escape the Plains
cold and wet is what we want
a place where all the PurpleAir disks glow green
where snow is measured in feet
where water sits right below the surface
ready to douse a spark
where the aspen are plump with sap
and the spring’s gushing never slows
a place to counter glare and ash and salmon skies
numb to the mercury’s fever
on not winter-camping
on not winter-camping
once the dark falls
I draw the cabin walls around me
filling them with wood and warmth
shutting out the fox’s screams
Coulson Gulch & Leadville Arrival
