In Midwinter Sun

winter-hay-bales-keith-burgess

We sat and lay
And walked upon
The rotten, round bales
Lined up, fifteen in a row

We five and the winter solstice sun going down
Eating pockets-full of swamp rose hips

The youngest among us stuffed his mouth
As if hips were savory as raspberries

We laughed at him gobbling
And swallowing seeds and all
Till my little girl’s feet got cold
From creek water in her boots
Then mama carried her piggy-back home
And the little one waved as she went

And as the dogs lay
In the sluff of the bales
Half-napping like they do in the day
We boys stayed for one more round

To count birds nests
In towering canes
And collect more pockets-full
To gobble in the finale
Of winter’s solstice sun

12-22-14

Previously published in
A Swineherd’s Journal

Art by Keith Burgess

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