Scribo Scribere

Demon of night, and embers all aglow:

tonight we gather round the fireplace, heart of our home.

My father lades the fire, loads into it paper, as kindling,

and logs we have had for years, well-dried.

But for the kindling keenly stoked, the house would be cold,

this third night without power after the storm.

We all walk around with our flashlights,

my father, my mother and I, at first with sloping shadows

finding their way in as evening turns to night.

Then full darkness, and we strain to see.

As I sit in the corner in my favorite chair,

a flashlight trained on a book before me,

I wonder at how people lived this way in years past,

or how people live this way still in the world:

without the usual comforts I take for granted.

But for the fireplace in the center of our home,

in this post-storm stint of barrenness,

it would be a cold night for us.

So, we know that we are blessed.

God has seeded the path before us

so we might live, and prosper,

comfortable and warm all the time

we ply our existence in this world.

Demon of night, we shall best you,

always, with God’s gift of light!