summer becomes winter

she had sat 

a gentle honeyed lamp 

on the edge of her flower box, 

as was her way of welcome.

and the golden glow  

exhaled like a steaming pot 

of hot tea, beneath 

the prickly silhouettes of 

black branches and blossoms and leaves -

rather theatrically, I thought.

 

for a moment,  

it seemed to me,

there should have been snow flakes, 

falling on the last of the summer flowers, 

feathering the chilly air 

in white magic.

when suddenly, she appeared atop the stairs:  

a, somewhat quizzical, frosty specter
– luminous (almost) – 

in the amber entrance to the house;

clutching, oddly enough,
a winter white mango mousse,  

bejeweled in tropical fruit.

 photos: Lantern on the Flower Box and Tea and Mango Mousse – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke