November’s gone, December’s new, from first-snow in fall through day before that melted in the eve they woke to morning frost, gray, and ice on the trees bowing boughs weighted in carry of the burden.
Winter greens, last live of garden, shadowed darkly in a green suggesting death. But the cold was not so strong, not all killing, and when sun restored and frost erased, the color and life-shape of leaf would return.
He tended hearth, restored the flame resurrected from the ash; warmth of light and spirit, alive, in fire-sign’s embody.
Flame restored, he turned around, and she was there. White-worn hat in accent of adorn, she wore it and nothing more. Fair and beautiful, her skin like the frost warmed and changed under touch and keeping of his hold.
Gentle kisses, slow and exploring, respondant to one another. Spirits warmed, enkindled in wake, like fire of the hearth in new-breathed life and attention of intentions restoring fire from the night-burned ash.
He raised the brow of her white-worn hat, her autumn eyes still beautiful, alluring in enchant against December and skin’s fair.
He kissed her again, stronger and more eager.
Fire of the hearth expanded. They felt it through their skin.
Gone was the cool of morning’s grace. Warmth and glow of a woke replaced in heat and show. Dazzle of her autumn eyes, sun melted through the gray.
Low sweep and draw and bring of her body tightly onto his; gentle baring of teeth, dazzle-eyes still, it was she that led in kiss and onto full of love.
Crackle of fire, its hush and soft pops, sun’s stronger burning through; awake of the skin, awake of within; December flame from November’s ash.