The wood fire, a girl guide log cabin lay, is a miracle of flame and heat in a deep pit of snow. Bundled trekkers huddle in the dappled clearing knee deep in fresh powder. Our frozen faces, fingers and toes tingle as the long day winds down with a winter cookout, a WINTER cookout, how amazing are these foil packets we cradle in our hands!
at trail end
sweet melts in snow
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A s’more is campfire treat of roasted marshmallow on chocolate between graham crackers.
winter hike wrapped in a knitted scarf the smell of wet wool
In ‘real’ time we are not wrapping wool scarves around our faces yet, but this is a sensation renewed for me almost every year…when the thermometer dips below freezing and the only way to seal out a winter wind is to wrap a scarf.
Drink hot soup tomato red
this February night.
Burn a candle flame.
Winter blood still
bathes chilled joints.
Wear wool to hug the skin,
Breathe to clear dry lungs.
We are defrosting,
departing from winter hibernation.
Spring barely has begun.
A message from 44º North, 76º West for dVerse Poet’s Pub. We are quadrilling “burn” tonight.
My hair silvers at the temples and falls out in long white strands. It was brown, then dark dark brown and now…I wonder if my hair is thinning…..my mother’s hair was always blonde….different shades of blonde…she made sure of that. And now my plumage changes. What will leave and what will stay?
In this haibun I blend a story about hair with my recent sightings of robins. Reading about these birds I discovered that some robins live five years or more if they survive their first year. I am fairly certain that the robins in my yard stayed here for the winter, perhaps feasting on the abundant juniper berries. Their signature red breasts and white plumage on throats and under tails brighten up the landscape. The above photo, from Pixabay, is an American Robin. Many thanks to Bjorn at dVerse for his Haibun Monday prompt: The beauty and the misery of grey.
When the world becomes a snow globe, it’s time to make soup. The sun is rising earlier, days are longer and everyone is talking about spring, but it’s still freezing cold.
In the fall I buy large and small pumpkins and line them up on the counter. Their brilliant orange cheers my spirits. Two days ago, in cold February, I cut up my second last pumpkin and made a huge pot of soup with ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, cumin and coriander.