Pretty

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

On the fifth morning without power,

after re-lighting the still-embered stove,

I opened the old mahogany door

and walked into the chill of morning.

It was bright, and bold.

The south facing slopes were bustling

with sun-warmed bodies:

Birds. All sorts of birds.

And they were no doubt hoping,

restless insects.

The north facing slopes still slept,

bundled in a sheet of snow

and a thick duvet of mountain laurel.

My ears went out to meet the

small folk:

Juncos and titmice and chickadees.

Song sparrows, white-throats

and a lone bluebird high in creekside sycamore.

But it was the cardinal who spoke to me.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty!” Was his repeat.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty!” Through the wooded air.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty!” Into the day.

And, yes, I thought.

This is it!

This is how I shall start all the mornings to come.

I shall open the door

and walk into the world

and tell it:

“Pretty, pretty, pretty!”

© 2013-2015/Jamie K. Reaser

From "Winter: Reflections by Snowlight"
Published by Hiraeth Press 
http://www.hiraethpress.com

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