Warming The Cabin

This little cabin has been cold a while.
I blame the deep and drifted snow, the hill
and later on the swollen stream - but mostly
lack of purpose, lack of will.

The candle from the scarred and dusty table
a dry match from the tightly lidded jar 
throw light on all the known and friendly places
and shadows where the shadows always are.

Dry kindling from the kindling box...
Split hardwood from the sheltered porch...
Some birch bark unwound from the tight wound roll... 
and then the candle as a torch...

The warming boards and timbers snap and pop
in answer to the crackling in the stove.
Two palms of coffee steaming in the pot
scent shadows softer - though they do not move.

Now for the yellow paper on the bench,
the pens and pencils clustered in their jar,
the circling crows exclaiming each to each
from just above my tight-latched cabin door ...