Things to store for winter
Two short poems on fall & preparing for winter for when things are dying and you need to carry some light with you into the dark
Things to store for winter
Beeswax candles, a light in the early morn, an ember in the dark of the night
Grown garden goods, pickled, or stored in the shed, a bag in the freezer, for a taste of what was
Well worn wool, a hole, a tear, stains that tell a story, winter is unkind to even the finest of knits
A printed photo, something with fraying edges, in color, a captured feeling that you can hold tight
A pocket watch, so you can look at the time and put it away to forget about for three months
A large blanket, one that fully wraps around you, the introvert’s escape in small spaces when it’s too cold to retreat outside
Herbs, of any sort, a bundle preferably, for casting spells
Dried leaves and nuts, an offering for the spirits
Firewood, you will need to light at least one fire to warm your insides amidst the winter’s winds
A pen and a notebook, for the words that emerge from the underworld, note they will not yet make sense
A list, for things to plant come spring
A list, for things to burn come spring, of all the things that you no longer are
Signs of the fall
The leaves fly from the trees like birds, nesting,
The ground is a color of things that fall,
Everything is unsaturated, fading,
But nothing is yet dead,
Ideas are coming to me, slowly,
I put projects on the shelf,
I want to step back and look at them,
I want to enjoy each step toward and away from them,
I like the things that take time, a slow stew, garlic planted in October, mornings in bed,
I don’t want to arrive anywhere, just take roads and turns that get me close,
I am fully in a feeling, it will end soon, and I want to tuck some of it away for later,
There are signs of fall here, and I cannot remember how summer felt, or spring, but I have wisps of winter already,
I prepare for the cold,
My ideas grow brittle and fall, dry,
I don’t know yet who I am, I’ve stepped away from the realm of thought, but of feeling, of knowing, and unknowing,
I remind myself that I do not know, and yet still follow the small tugs, the pulls,
I am pulled in a direction,
I will tell you someday where it has taken me.
