A moment of understanding
when the face lights up
and even the trees seem to kneel.
The mossy ground
below a huge willow
by the side of the marsh.
Children who come
with white faces
and turn pink
in the sun.
The sound of sawing in the woods
and the long lone hum
of a boat bearing lumber
down the Hudson.
The sudden deer in the trees,
a streak of white tail
and the hoof prints
filling with water.
The sound of voices
rounding out with grace,
with trust.
And rosehip tea steaming in the sun.
How many times we threw off our shoes
and danced together,
the cool ground under our soles.
And the mud! churned by feet, and horses,
ox-carts and cows.
The open throats
and closed eyes,
that red ringing
inside my heart.
And mornings that Lucy sang
making breakfast,
snatches of hymns
stuck together.
The long, quiet time of waiting.
Art credit: Untitled photograph by Zurijeta/Shutterstock.
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