Fog

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He sniffs the damp fence post, a reveal of who came before.
Deciding all is well, he leaves his mark
and we continue on.
Fog sneaks in behind us, a foreshadowing of storm.
We will not venture out into early morning falling flakes,
only because I fear ice that lays waiting to surprise,
A turn of seasons offers its own perspective,
leaving its mark for me to decipher.

 

Root

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Day Two

 

 

root

Gently it unfolds.
Just before dawn
a sweet call
announces your
return, your nest
in preparation.

Reassured, I mark
his parade. Four small
wheels turning under
aluminum scaffold
bent and formed to catch
his unsteady slant.

Another winter passed and
he remains fundamental
to spring’s element.

From tip of bud
it is not extrinsic
ingredients we fashion
into seasons, but
from root below,
those we do not see.

It is finesse of ancients
who came before to teach
us how to assemble.
Their wisdom of time.
Their refinement
into patience. Their
passion to endure.

This our recipe of
transfiguration.

 

Author’s Note:

Day Two prompt from NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“And last but not least, here is our prompt (as always, optional). Today, I’d like you to write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe! It can be a recipe for something real, like your grandmother’s lemon chiffon cake, or for something imaginary, like a love potion or a spell.”