by Ann B. Day
In my upstairs room
I awake from my midday nap
to hear November’s wind,
harsh against the house,
groan in leafless maples,
rock the forgotten wicker chair
on the porch.
I watch gray clouds
framed by the bedroom window
roll across the sky,
like ships tossed on white-capped sea.
Bare branches of ash trees
wave against the blue.
The wind wails wilder,
clouds dance faster,
the wicker chair blows
off the porch.
I shut my eyes, turn
toward the softer light
of my inner room.
Ann B. Day moved into a cottage at the Rivermead Retirement Community in Peterborough, New Hampshire, in 2013. She and her family owned a working guest farm in Mad River Valley of Vermont, where they raised Highland cattle, taught skiing, and held writing retreats for 50 years. She belongs to the Monadnock Writers’ Group and the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Ann writes a nature column for the weekly Valley Reporter and publishes nature books and annual engagement calendars with her poetry and photos. Her poems have been printed in many publications, including Time Magazine, The Lyric, Green Mountain Trading Post, New England Memories, and Poets Touchstone.
Smoky Quartz 