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By Galadrial Date: 2001 Nov 22 Comment on this Work [[2001.11.22.14.20.13829]] |
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The snug house on the Ridge was built for escape. No Phones... you looked at me like I was nuts when I said that. But I told my family that we would be with yours, and you told yours that we would be with mine, and instead we stole away to a place where the sky meets the mountain where the clouds kiss the ground, and we planned a modest feast turkey...sage stuffing the smell filling the space corn pudding you prepare with care--- while I slice tips off of beans, sliver almonds, and cover over sweet potato pie with marshmallows. The stove would never allow full trimmings, but it's not the food--- not even the place, dear though it is to my heart. It is you--- you I will give thanks for, head bowed, holding your hands tight and thanking god for every moment great and small and gift of your steadfast love. You build another fire, applewood logs to perfume the air and offer me mulled russian tea and your kiss for benediction. It is quiet now, and I lean against your chest and shoulders and watch the flames burn blue while night steals into the mountains again, and the moon rises above the ridge. There are times that are priceless when words mean nothing--- just sounds. But the hearts speak their own tongue, and mine close to yours has learned to pray. Giving thanks on the Ridge. (I wrote a series of poems last year---feels like forever ago...but this is seasonal, and worked...) |