The Missing Spindle

I was in a still place
under a blanket of deep winter snow
just listening
and waiting

while slowly
slowly
the Muses lead me back

to a place I knew to be true
or anyway familiar.

This place hasn’t finished with me yet.

And it warmed that icy december studio
to put this panel up on the easel
and sit in front of this window
remembering that early spring day
many years ago
when I walked
into Anna’s kitchen light
and once again
came home.