The house called to meWith its ice blue paint,Wild gardens,And unsmiling windows.I returned in the moonlight—A dead tree pointed the way,Branches gnarled in the coldLike a grandmother’s fingers.But the house was alive,Candles burning,Shadows turning,Lifting goblets of wine.Hugging and toasting,Duck and goose roasting,Perfuming the air, andWarm hands clasped in prayer…I watched through the snow.Their happiness glowed;The […]

The Blue House