The afternoon is overcast with clouds
that filter the light, turning it pearly.
And it’s warm – well above freezing
at last – and the wetlands call me.
Frankly, it looks dreary. Dull browns
and grays. “Color and form, Susan,”
some inner mentor reminds me.
These are gifts, these winter lessons.
I toss my judgments into the sky,
empty my pockets of labels, feel
the wind, hear it in the branches
and brush and reeds. Only the wind
and nothing more, and it is moist
and cold and wonderful. A light gleams
from the edge of the woods and I step
toward it and see it is a low spot with
ice lingering on the blanket of leaves.
So here it is, found, of course, exactly
when it was least expected, exactly
where, and exactly what I wanted
and needed and hadn’t even asked for.