TO WRITE OF LOVE
See, though it is January, already
rose buds fatten, the camellia’s
are uncountable – and some of last summer’s
geraniums still bloom. A squirrel
sniffs and claws at last year’s hoards and blackbirds
gather. Forty years, this Valentine’s, this
sentient house has been our home where
paintings shift, doors stick and light falls like blessings.
Always there are so many ways to write of love.
Pat Rogerson
January 31, 2015A lovely poem, David. I know what you mean about this time of year. It always amazes me how leaves still cling to branches and buds start to form inspite of the cold.