Hearthlife

When the darkness comes
we prefer
the pleasures of a flickering grate
worn by the fires we have built
chipped by the lazy stab of a poker
known and loved as the light of our evenings.
There in our hearth is our life
lived closely
around its wavering light.


Outside frost creeps across the ground
chill creeps through the air


Then sister
weaver of the fabric
weave us a bright cloak
many-hued and various
keep the colours twining
blue, red, green,
keep the waters running
through the rivers of our life
bind fast the dark thread
hide it from the spinner
searching for the dark stitch
to catch us in her web
searching for the dark thread
running through the darkness
she can see her dark thread
in any dark night
she will prick the bright cloth
find the bright waters
catch us in her grey web
where all the colours end.
So weave for us sister
and we will love you dearly
weave us a bed cloth
to take away the night
weave all your sweet dreams
as we lie down snugly
show us all your colours
and make the morning bright.

Of Hearth and Home

Soft sunlight falls on the white bathroom tiles and provides a restful atmosphere for a long convalescent soak in the bath. Outside it is clear and bright but the snow that fell a few days ago still lies frozen in some places. Not that I have been able to go out. Flu has confined me to the house for several days now. Easy reading (Keith Donohue’s The Stolen Child; Mark Rowlands’ The Philosopher and the Wolf), occasional web browsing, but mostly dozing has given a feeling of retreat to these hirlwm days as the new year gathers its energies.

I had hoped that the menthol bath soak would help clear my head and chest but, sitting making these notes a little later, there is no evidence of that happening. Though better, I still feel too fragile to venture out along the icy woodland paths along which I usually beat the bounds of my home territory.

So, confined to the pleasures of the hearth, I watch the flames blazing up the chimney and keep to the house for a day or two more.