A Late Winter Evening

Dreaming here of winter and fires .

Caravansary for Freethinking Women

A late winter evening

silence falling

with frost ghostly

on roads wet, cold, empty



Mist on my window panes

hazy, scary, uneasy

time, hungry, lies crouching


but for the comforting tick-tock

of the old wall-clock

that keeps a different time


Wooden doors, glass windows, thick curtains all drawn,

the dull yellow glow of my room lamp warm,

carpet below my feet soft.

A room heater glows ruddy

cheerful and busy,

a glowing ember

stolen from the sun,

one day –

larky, flappy, sunny and blue skied,

long-long ago.

Gurgles like water,

steaming and bubbling,

kept on stove at my grandma’s

for long evening teas

when life was a long winter vacation homely

. . . long-long ago.

Wisps of vapour

curling out of the red-tea

in my big mug


two biscuits of Marie, lightly sweet,

A reward for one more day-long battle against time

so bitter, so…

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