warm socks at first frost 

I love the prospect of warm socks at first frost
and the soldier-like look of them in neat rows
as they line up before me
next to the French-milled soaps
in the second dresser drawer
where they have bunkered
since the daffodils bloomed. 

A colorful assemblage, they
in vibrant vermillion,
or sumptuous grey,
or azure- multi-hued,
patiently waiting to be tapped
for duty.

I am dancing now in the hours after donning
the Carolina Blue pair,
with my tweeds and outdoor duds,
cashmere caressing my lucky toes,
I am royalty lifted above the fray
simply to stroll
Doc Silver's nippy back forty
as if it were a mild midsummer's day
but better: no insects or tall grasses where the
slithering creatures play-

just the Land
and, here and there,
on the north side of the ridge, 
slender watery threads making icicles
from summer's sweet cascades.

October's fallen leaves,
still wet with yesterday's storm,
are slick on the trail.
Still,  I float along, scarf flying,
hiking boots, muddy and well-worn,
with feet smiling in blue-clad  luxury.

We are searching for the last wild berries,
you and I, and beneath these,
you unearth the secret:
"... cherished toes pay dividends uncounted...."

~^~ jA Narrin, Wind-in-the-Feather The Spirit Ridge Collection  Asheville, 2009