It came in the night,
a wind that dropped the temperature
and set rocking chairs into ghostly movement,
bird feeders swinging off hooks,
wind chime into perpetual song, forte.
After turning out the last light,
I remembered
and scrambled back up
to do what I resist,
turned on all faucets to drip. I knew
that by morning
the pans set in sinks and shower
would be overflowing. But frozen
and broken pipes
would be even more wasteful
and problematic. Hours later,
the sound of wind
and chime woke me
and I suddenly remembered
the hermitage
and then that I had left a heater on there
even during warmer days—darn—
but, oh,
good, hoping it’s warm enough
until morning. Before first light, I got up
to see if the dripping in the house faucets continues,
to look around, see if there is anything
I need to tend to. I’ll rehang the birdfeeders
when it’s not so windy,
so cold.
Faucets still dripping, every one. Pans beneath
overflowing water
down the drain—darn, but
can’t be helped. Replaced them
with empties. There will be water
for houseplants. Looking up from kitchen sink
through window to the west,
something bright,
just beyond the trees. Oh,
splendor: moon