-This poem reflects on autumn rain entering the chimney and becoming part of the life inside the house, where water, draft, smoke, and fire meet at the hearth while the weather deepens outdoors.
The rain begins before the dawn,
and travels down the chimney stones,
a hollow tapping through the flue
above the ashes in the grate.
The roof grows dark beneath the rain,
wet maple leaves cling to the slate,
while gusts send water past the cap
and draw a low note through the house.
We set the kettle on the stove,
then lay two splits of applewood;
the first flame leans beneath the draft
and warms the iron at the hearth.
By dusk, the rain has filled the yard,
smoke folds beneath the dripping eaves,
and from the chimney’s blackened throat
one drop falls hissing on the fire.