Matthew Lyle Landsman

Walked by the river under frosted trees white and true. Frozen shoreline with a steam off the water. The Canada Geese wondering aloud if they ought not have wandered a bit farther south. Grass not covered in meager snow is hard and crushes in protest under my boots.
The silence of a winter day, broken only by the trails of my breath, the warming of engines while the windows clear. I walked alone with just memories in tow. Broken skies and patches of blue with a promise of an even colder snap.And as I bury my hands into warming pockets, I feel an old key you left me, and fill my fingers with memories of me and you…
Cord wood stacked in the yard ‘neath the eaves, top row covered in tarp and snow. I’ll bring in a bundle and feed the coals for a bit of a blaze to warm my feet. Another cup, and other set of songs to keep me company. Maybe ice cream and toast before I call it a day…another peek out on the porch to see the moon through the icicles and mist on the fields.
Night time in winter is a sad song all its own. A chorus in the foggy valley and a fresh layer of straw where the calves are born. I’ll stoke the stock heater, slide the rug up to the door to kill the draft and feed the fire a little more. There might be more hours of darkness, but there is extra time to read, to plan work in the greener months and fence lines to stretch, and thoughts of tender grass shoots to chew.
Time for the slumber and fire to die to coals. A chapter or two before the light is doused and sleep wins the hours…I hope you’re warm and safe and sound. Matty

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Potential is a seed in dry ground. Hope is the smell of rain in the air from a passing cloud. Faith is in setting the table and waiting. Love is sharing the harvest …

Matthew, 3:50 am, 12/01/16

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