January in the village

January goat

 

Morning fog slows day’s awakening, softening blood red sunrise

Mist dulls speed and noise, and space takes on a shadow world’s disguise

By waking homesteads milking cows breathe steam into grey dawn

Dressed in neatly stitched hessian robes and dusty smells of hay

Warm milk at the dairy

To celebrate January

.

Goats in old coats find green leaves and warmth, kids in kid’s hand-me-downs

Torn t-shirts and worn sweaters, pulled over reluctant sharp-horned crowns

Along the path, through mist appear piles of clothes in human form

While dark lingers under mango trees huddling to stay warm

Morning is a sanctuary

To celebrate January

.

Smoke from morning fires mingles lifting fog with smells of tea

Small flames lick eagerly at cold air and wood from new cut trees

Morning’s yawning children put on red and orange knitted hats

While early risers wrap their heads like gifts waiting to unwrap

All dressed up merry

To celebrate January

.

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