I will miss the wood burning stove in my parents house-
My favorite corner-
Where house becomes home.
And I will miss
the sounds of fire and flame-
And the smell weaving its way throughout the house on a cold January morning-
And the warmth of being in the presence of things ancient & forever-
And chopping, stacking, & carrying wood with my dad-
And just sitting here,
sipping dark roast
& raw milk,
can’t take my eyes off the dance of flames - so **** beautiful.  
I will miss thinking nothing here,
letting it be-
being.