The hearth is warm.
The toasty seeds are popping in the fire.
I leaned out my window
for a moment to feel the icy wind
flow upon my nose.
Brrrr!
Window closed.
I turned to my spices.
Dusting the pies;
With my bewitching smile.
These are the days I admire most.
The children come
and knock upon my door,
I hand them my wrappings
of soul cakes galore.
A slice of pie for the parent;
for good measure
They all file in to warm up by the hearth.
They laugh and giggle
in my house of pumpkin.
by melissa rubin
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