Feast Day

Marmalade on my feast day,
ten jars and then some,
the final stage a rolling boil
till the slivers of peel cut yesterday -
with the smallest wooden-handled knife
-  grew translucent.  Earlier
at the water mill the sun just touched
the treetops and the frost on the old stone
hadn't moved all day.

Coming home
the fire was lit, a clean bright good one,
and the blanket curtain left open until six
to catch the last deep bluegreen glow
of twilight through the winter trees
(chestnut shoots, wych elm, ash keys)

and I am wished well of Sainte Lucie