Monthly Archives: November 2014

First Snow

First Snow in Angel GardenFirst Snow in Angel Garden

First Snow

On journey home,

prediction of squalls,

as temperature drops with the sun.

Heart jumps!, the first snow!

Rush to door, key turns,

quick kiss on back of hand,

the first snow!

Flick on garden light;

wait for large, white puffs

from an early storm to settle

on grass still green.

Flakes will find a place

among last bloom of rose;

bright nicotianna, innocent of season;

late crythansemum, whose burgundy

petals surround a golden heart.

Mind wanders on early winds;

childhood winters filled with snow.

Sled drawn with sturdy rope,

follows like a puppy to hill

that drops from overpass.

Scale heights to fly

through hole cut in fence.

Sparks ignite along runners;

zip across a small pond,

hope for frozen surface.

Over and over we ascend

and take flight.

Sun long set, by street light

we wind our way home;

covered in frost and ice,

half snow creatures, cold

beyond belief, near collapse,

as artic explorers on tundra

searching for shelter.

Warm glow of fire dries

mittens, hats, scarves, boots,

socks and layers of clothing;

settle under thick quilts,

as snow resumes falling,

through the night, to refresh

our winter playground.

Lainie Senechal




Oak LeavesOak Leaves


(A Thanksgiving Poem)

It is our tradition to gather as family

to renew and celebrate our bond;

to offer a prayer to the spirit

that connects heaven and earth.

For we are bound, not only

to each other, to elements

of the universe: sun and moon,

our brother and sister;

fruits of trees, grasses of prairies

nourish and sustain us.

They transform energy of stars

into sustenance of life

and through our veins pulses

the heat of cosmic creation.

Lainie Senechal





Low beams of light

shimmer in leaves;

flutter of canaries’ wings,

bristle of fox fur.

Even the tamarack

has traded its green innocence

for a tattered coat of burnt umber.

You arrive with your flattery,

your sultry songs, where

buffleheads dive and bob

among wind-driven wavelets

that spark in the sun.

I have no choice but to

succumb to your charms.


Lainie Senechal