After a storm

Out the kitchen window,
my hands warm in soapy water,
I watch the young man
clearing branches
from the blown down maple.

He makes choices —
breaking some sticks across his knee
for next winter’s kindling,
carrying others into the woods,
held high like great antlers.

He bends and stretches,
runs hands over the texture of bark
soaks up almost forgotten sun,
listens to the flutter and scurry
of bird, squirrel and rabbit.

His dog lays her muzzle on her paws
under the other surviving tree
and watches him.

I do too – a young person
working by himself,
but reminding me of a generation,
living today, making tomorrow,

in spite of wind
and the falling of trees.

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4 Responses to After a storm

  1. Jessica McArdle says:

    Poignant words and imagery, Maren. In my mind’s eye, your poetic words lead me there.

  2. I love the word images you painted here. Thanks.

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