Lamplight through pinholes
painting perfect pictures presently
along the warm cedar planks.
Shimmering sap shining silently
bringing it to life.
The shingle roof
tacked together by tiny tin
nails that sing under the faithful drumming of
melancholy clouds.
Wandering wordlessly in windy wooshes
that play the leaves of the trees in woodwind concert.
Tea and a good book are the only two missing ingredients.