Over the winter apple orchard
you look down
into the gnarled branches
and feel a tug
but your heart
outstretched
looks to the distant
mountains
and sees its destination.
To your left
below,
but part way up
the nearest slope
stands an old unwieldy structure—
a place where someone dwells.
There is a familiar
tilt to the porch,
the green shutters,
the way the snow
clings to the roof,
but all the
gravity
of its great bulk,
its weighted longing,
doesn’t bring you in.
There comes a time
when
against all inclination
the unknown
is more beautiful.
Looking up
into the fast falling snow
you feel a start of fear.
How can snow be so unfamiliar?
Almost alien.
But you persist
and release yourself:
Catapulted into the moment
you have everything you need.
Copyright ©
Sherry Lazarus Ross, all rights reserved