The Room

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

The morning walk
was soaking wet and cold,
water flooding down
the sides of hills.

I wonder if we
will end in water?
Sweeping floods from
an inlet sea
changing the course
of our earth.

Then at the top
of the hill in the forest,
maples in a glorious, gold coat
invited us in.

We opened her door
and stepped into
a fire-lit room,
warming our feet
and hands,
sitting awhile,
until the rain stopped.

6 Comments

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

6 responses to “The Room

  1. That’s beautiful Ethel – so delicately done – we are there walking with you.

  2. It’s good to get cosy. 🙂

  3. That’s a walk I’d love to take. Thank you for sharing it. N.

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