The warmth of an autumn sun
warms her back as she walks a path
unknown.
Winter wrens sing a happy song
as a chorus of crows make way
through a semi-blue sky.
A breeze lights her face
and yellowing leaves harmonize
as they drift and flow down
to the rivers edge.
The deer stop to stare
and she gazes back into coal black eyes,
eyes that can see right through.
A warmth and comfort and serene peace
come from them and they return to graze.
She walks on to the small brick house
and enters the rugged wooden door.
She stirs the big black pot that bubbles
in the fireplace and spiced steam
tickles and tempts her nostrils.
Sitting in the chair of old thick wood
she writes in her book of shadows
as she feels the heat of hearth and home.

S.B. NOVEMBER 2005

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Oh what is it about the green of shamrocks that sets my heart to spinning? ~ I'll se ye in Ireland !