harvest hearth softly glowing
stone cold beneath weary feet
to winter between drafty walls
to recall what it is to feel

diminished window of light
door shut against inclemency
to slumber and dream without
to lose and find self within

time is ripe for apparitions
so unexpectedly haunting
cloaked in familiarity
heartflutteringly intrusive

daydreams are her elixir
scent of tea, turf, baked porter
dusted in peat ash patina
awakening dormant senses

...an invitation to a nice, soft night