Before the Frost

The Burnt Marshmallow Diary

The fallen asters light up
their barren brothers- brush
straw trampled beneath the
long fingered pines and hooves
of a lumbering old cow and
her blood red boy of autumn,
who stops to sniff a dying
bloom that shudders in half-
flight from his steaming exhale.

This breath is music to thin
clouds that spell prophecies
in snow, and the black nights
when December Moon shrinks
from her own pale loveliness
to acknowledge the clarity of
stars holding court: the frozen
goddesses of a winter temple
of dark woven willow and stark
grasses that spread immaculate
arms to welcome an ancient cold.

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About kateeleigh

I'm not the greatest at this whole social media thing. I like face-to-face interactions. Phone calls, texts, random cups of tea. I work in some of Canada's most remote places, and I'm having a (not-so) secret love affair with my camera, who goes everywhere with me. When I'm not running away to the great outdoors, I like to read, play video games, and find the myriad ways I can annoy my cat. I'm the author and photographer at and I'm a contributor to Thalassa's Pagan Devotionals over at Welcome to my world. Won't you sit down with a cup of tea and stay a while? View all posts by kateeleigh

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