Sugaring

Steam rises from the chimney
with a G-rated "come hither"
into the cerulean blue sky.

You feel drawn towards it
like a moth to a porch light
on a warm June evening.
"Come hither."

Upon entrance,
the sweet aroma
and humid air
hit your face like a wave of Aunt Jemima;
but you're here for something better.
"Come hither."

The jolly old man
with the large white mustache
and the quiet young man,
with his own mustache,
greet you with a smile.
"Come hither."

You get a taste of the sweet stuff
fresher than a cow's milk off the utter.

The taste of Vermont is "come hither."