Advent, the Eleventh Day: Glennfiddich (18 Year Old)


…arundinem vento agitate?

On frigid nights the hinds and harts are hunkered
In curls of fur. So hearing sleet and snow
Regale the air, you shelve your earthen tankard
For Glennfiddich in your Glenncairn. You know
That when that valley swallows hard, its weather
Can swirl for weeks. You sip and lean to bother
The hearth from sparks to flames. The kitchen clock
Now inventories – tick by forceful tick –
Your mind: Eleven days of Advent vessels;
The strength of eighteen years in hand. This storm
Of moments may subside, or form a corm
Of litanies that store the Christmas wassails:
The embryo of every minute’s hoard
Reveals its role as servant first – then lord.