Something I struggle to hold onto
stands in the forest, half-hidden
where trees cut sunlight into blinding shafts.
I tilt my head until I block
the arc of light with a tree. Above,
geese bark, reassuring one another that they
are moving in the right direction.
Reassured, I continue beside a frozen pond
where the morning light glistens silver;
then across the surface I see myself –
a child, hands clasped as if in prayer.
She steps upon the thin ice, and smiles.
A puff of steam moves from her mouth
as she speaks to herself, content, concentrated.
I continue, knowing that peace comes
to us from some other place,
like a child who stands alone in a wood
with nothing more to comfort her
than a frozen pond.
Where do we find strength? What brings inspiration? For me, these have always come from winter trees, the color of a morning sky, wind pushing leaves down an an empty street, and the songs of birds.