“A wounded deer leaps the highest.” —Emily Dickinson
The way the bright blue sky fades to pale gray
at the edge of the horizon where the tips
of the dark green pines reach toward heaven
The way the light plays over the icy wet surface of the lake,
today more pristine than yesterday
when fishing shanties and ice fishermen dotted the lake,
the warmth of the winter sun changing the frozen surface,
promising spring and hope
It’s almost enough to soften the pain of your words this morning,
angry words that lingered in the air warmed by the sun,
ice forming within me instead of on the lake.
One would think all this beauty would soften it.
It’s almost enough.
© Barbara Flass 2012