During these winter months the Reece Farm awaits the coming spring when nature revives and the gates to this hallowed venue reopen to the public.  One can picture the Reece family hunkering down to withstand the bitter cold, enjoying close proximity to the welcomed warmth of the fireplace.   We may fancy that it was during a typical January evening that our poet was led to pen the words of the following poem, entitled “A Fire of Boughs” (from The Season of Flesh, 1955).

At onset of December
When the cold comes to stay
I bring boughs, leafed in May,
To feed the cheerful ember
And warm the wintry night.
Folded into his fur,
The cat disdains to stir
But dreams by firelight.
And I should follow suit
Except that boughs in turning
Shapeless in the burning
Alarms the more than brute
Caged within my being
That often plays at blind
But stirs and shakes my mind
With grave misgiving, seeing
Wood fall from coal to ash,
Its substance burned to nothing,
Its luminescent clothing,
Its shine, its flash,
Expended, one with night—
And is not comforted
That such translation shed
Both warmth and light.

What are your musings these winter days?  However pleasant or perplexing they may be, we hope you will plan to come our way again in April, where a visit to the Reece Farm and Heritage Center may bring you both warmth and light.


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