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.
fourwindowspress 
That’s beautiful Ethel – so delicately done – we are there walking with you.
Thank you. The poem needs some mystery and newness. Ethel
It’s good to get cosy. 🙂
Yes. Ethel
Stay warm 🙂
That’s a walk I’d love to take. Thank you for sharing it. N.
I love this, Ethel!