Insulation
by Gay Williford

The amber light of November
warns of the dormant months to come.
Bounties of the past season
stuff old barns and corn cribs,
fill sheds and cellar shelves.
I, too, thicken my coat,
collect my reserves
and stock my cerebral pantry–
raking in summer memories,
bottling up seashore aromas,
imprinting flower colors,
canning meadow fragrances,
freezing family picnic moments
and preserving sunshine’s warmth–
the fond recall of which
can be tapped, anytime,
to kindle heart fire
and ease the chill and barrenness
of winter’s numbing cold.



 

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