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I know that some have walked alone on warm and cold nights, while gently waking frozen or slushed lines that are pouring golden liquid.

It’s syrup season, boiling sap until the sun rises–maple syrup steeped is waiting to be cherished slowly.

At Temple’s I find things made with love by someone who had been up at the crack of dawn making pancakes.

Crisp, sizzling bacon, slightly singed sausages and fluffy pancakes from a hot skillet, placed on a plate stacked high.

Dripping butter spreading from top to sides with warm maple syrup waiting for drizzle.

Flip, flop, golden brown–num, num, add maple syrup,
Cut, cutting, pick up with fork, chew, taste— oh, that tastes good!

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Gluten-free pancakes drizzled upon me in maple syrup shimmer, coating my yearning lips with tasty sweet love.

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Outside the air is crispy, like the bacon, and now my journey on the road ahead brings rain,

Out of the corner of my eye I spot her. She seemed to smell like waffles and maple syrup,
and looked like a maple leaf, red, rusty, spinning, floating through the now damp air.

Under her feather umbrella the sugar bush fairy was slowly licking the red top off the maple syrup bottle with maple syrup kisses. No one tried to catch her, as one might only seize her with smoke magic in moonlit parks while shimmering indigo stars dance around her.

As if my life is captured in a raindrop caught with the wind I too drift away like the sugar bush fairy. My tired eyes are now focused on the road.

Inside we drank coffee and ate steaming waffles,
While outside the gray fog draped itself–even over our minds,
Painting things in a sweeping grey that glistens in the sunlight.

A lesson lived,
A lesson learned,
We can’t live on love alone– but maybe, just maybe, life can be lived on maple syrup and sugar bush fairies.