Winter Fire

 Susan Duffey

Susan Duffey

Burning brush
by the property line
is a wonderful January task
The air is cold the ground hard
Branches crack when snapped
like ice on a mountain creek
when one steps
out upon it

Along the line
land meets woods
There at their edge
where the vines grow thickest
roots runs deep into sunny soil
and creeping runners
reach thorny legs
into branches

Hollow canes
make for good kindling
Singing in the licking flames
like little Fourth of July bees
they send sparklers in the air
The green vines and leaves
hiss and groan, cowboys
at the opera

Sweet smoke
rises from the fire
on an ever-shifting breeze
civilizing the lonesome woods
It evokes the ancient whispers
of the wild things who once
called the island home
and yet watch


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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2 Responses to Winter Fire

  1. kiwiskan says:

    a little reminder of a time when we burned off some old dead blackberry on our hillside, and ended up frantically stamping our the fire running through the grass – a few frantic moments…


  2. don’t let the EPA catch you


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