Farm Kitchen At Night

Farm Kitchen at Night

The kettle sings a low contented tune,

The dog snores in her sleep behind the stove.

There is a mingled odor in the air

Of apple pie and cinnamon and clove.

Beyond the pantry door I catch a glimpse

Of shiny milk pans on a narrow shelf,

A row of plates - the old brown cookie crock;

A brimming water pail all by itself,

A little bracket lamp beside the door,

Makes a small halo on the kitchen floor.

An old grey cat is sleeping on a chair,

Paws folded in below her snowy chest,

She looks the picture of contented peace,

Like an old lady waiting for a guest,

Her eyes blink softly as if half awake,

Pale green like water in a mountain lake.

The kitchen has a fragrance of its own,

Of porridge simmering in a blue pot,

Of kindling wood drying beneath the stove,

And red coals glowing beautifu and hot,

There is a sense of joy and comfort there,

In the old stove and cushioned rocking chair.

A feel of home and peace and fireglow,

That lovely modern kitchens do not know.

- Edna Jaques

(photo from Saskatchewan: A Pictorial History, Edited by D.H. Bocking)