Friday, October 29, 2010

By the Fireside

Ever since I was a little girl I have loved a wood fire. Some of my fondest memories come from the peaceful evenings spent dozing or reading in front of our fireplace as it crackled and let off scented smoke. There is something so comforting and calming about a fire at night. It draws every person in the house to gather round and just gaze at the rapidly changing peaks and valleys.

When we walked into our house to view it one of the first things we saw was the fireplace in the parlor.  My husband was "Sold" from that moment on.  It is the original fireplace dated 1889 on the inside.  It is a copper and cast iron fire grate with tile surround and then tigermaple wood.  I love it!  As often as I can I light a fire in it and just enjoy the sounds and light.

There is nothing I like more than to sit in our parlor next to the small fireplace and drink a good cup of tea or read or knit. My children like it just as much as I do and bring their blankets and pillows and storybooks. Samson the dog and Smokey the cat are frequently found dozing away in front of its glowing embers.  I would rather watch a fire than any t.v. show.


By an Autumn Fire

Now at our casement the wind is shrilling,
Poignant and keen
And all the great boughs of the pines between
It is harping a lone and hungering strain
To the eldritch weeping of the rain;
And then to the wild, wet valley flying
It is seeking, sighing,
Something lost in the summer olden
When night was silver and day was golden;
But out on the shore the waves are moaning
With ancient and never fulfilled desire,
And the spirits of all the empty spaces,
Of all the dark and haunted places,
With the rain and the wind on their death-white faces,
Come to the lure of our leaping fire.

But we bar them out with this rose-red splendor
From our blithe domain,
And drown the whimper of wind and rain
With undaunted laughter, echoing long,
Cheery old tale and gay old song;
Ours is the joyance of ripe fruition, Attained ambition.
Ours is the treasure of tested loving,
Friendship that needs no further proving;

No more of springtime hopes, sweet and uncertain,
Here we have largess of summer in fee­
Pile high the logs till the flame be leaping,
At bay the chill of the autumn keeping,
While pilgrim-wise, we may go a-reaping
In the fairest meadow of memory!

Lucy Maud Montgomery

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