Slow Syrup

One fine day the weather warms
enough to begin the steady
drip             drip
       drip             plop
              plip              drop
falling from the spile lip

down into the bucket
plink
        plunk
sap running up
            diverted to dropping
                        down
            in the yearly seasonal see saw
            of freeze thaw yielding
drip             drop
       drip             plop
              plip              drip
 
day after day
bucket after bucket
poured into pot after pot
sitting on the stove so hot
singing a song of
sim sim simmer
the sap sap sap
sim sim simmer
the sap sap sap
steam slowly swirling
steadily steadily
sim sim simmer
litre after litre
streaming into
the black oval roasting pan
spanning the two burners
of the Widow Wyile’s coltish
Little Giant with the steady roaring
of the flickering fire
dancing behind the criss-
cross window
day after day
night after night
the cold fresh sap
heatssssssssssss
and sssimmmmmersss
heatsssssssssss and
sssimmmmmersss
gradually growing golden
and ever so sssssssweeeeet 

and every day as she gathers
some of the precious life fluid
of two of her darlings
 Acer saccharum
one Y clad in lichen and moss
the other elder’s WV branches
garlanded with ivy
she greets them with gratitude
for their sweet gift
and this spring ritual
quotidian communion
aquatic tonic
            marvellous mineral elixir
flowing up
            dripping down
plink plink
                    plink

drip plip
               drip
into the blue lidded bucket

day after day
the Widow Wyile’s feet wear
through the receding snow cover
her hands lift-ing   pou-ring
the clear sweet stream
hold-ing and slow-ly pou-ring
more and more
into the shallow wide pan
to sim sim simmer
as the vapours slowly
and steadily dissipate
and the clear waters
turn golden
their subtle sweetness
intensifies
and the time
for bottles
finally
arrives
and the process
repeats
repeats
again and
again
until the running
ceases