A moment tenderly unfolding
it could be anywhere, any time,
a time when I am truly present
not lost somewhere in my tangled mind.
The snow is melting so quickly, so quietly,
long thin patches of white border the driveway
and rise into molecules of light
to a gray sky that is not gray at all
but a radiance shining through gray
a brand new quality of light
in the afternoon sun,
my neighbor’s red house
reflecting in a burnished blush of red
the silver sunlight.
Fallen leaves are waking
yellow and brown on the March lawn
keeping the soil warm,
creatures are stirring underground,
and seeds beginning,
slowly, tenderly unfolding.
An old oak outside my window
stands strong and protective
its bare brown branches reaching
over them, above them
now and only now.
Let your body become the melting snow
the breathing soil, the silver light.
About the Author
Dorothy Riehm lives in Northampton in a cohousing community. A retired social worker, she has been writing poetry on and off for many years, and now in her 80’s has been sending her work out for publication. Her poetry has appeared in Friends Journal, Passagers, and will be in the forthcoming issues of Silkworm and Linea.