This poem was among the runners-up in The Ontario Poetry Society's "Winsome Words" contest in 2006.
STONES FOR THE FIRE PIT
On the beach where you gather stones for the fire pit
stories percolate like coffee on a cold morning,
stories as new as the first time
you ride a bike or land a fish,
old as how you couldn’t wait to get away.
But now you’re back to watch
the sky evolve from blue to blush
and the first star shines as it never could in a city.
No fan of winter, each year you long for its elapse,
grow tired of watching ice form
on the pool behind the house,
smooth as linoleum, slick as aloe on a burn.
Here, the wind has pine on its breath,
stick-figure trees unfurl their leaves,
stand majestic once again
upon the new and tender ground.
The chitter of newly-fledged flickers in the apple tree,
the two-tone song of chickadees,
evocative of every spring you’ve ever known
delights you, invites you to dance
on this sun-parched earth,
dance like an eagle on a thermal,
satisfied as any lover.
You know you’re safe here,
meandering through the seasons.
Home at last
there’s nowhere else to go.
©2006 Linda Lee Crosfield
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