Log Fires.

A murder of raucous crows, chaos'd the stand
of leafless trees.
Stark boughs creaking, groaning; told winter was upon us.
Hawthorn dykes glistened, as the night dew gathered about them.

A witches moon sailed a wispy veil, voyaging
deep purple skies.
Stars above twinkled in the cold, of that infinite stygian wilderness.
I kicked the dirt with well worn boot, no give there, non expected.

Frost hits hard this time of year; biting at nails;
steaming breath.
Dripping nose ceasing its sporadic dribbling; teeth chattered.
Tired eyes seeking a homely light, gave rise to thoughts of log fires.

R