Yesterday afternoon we saw a number of raptors drifting north. Are they following the snow melt line? This morning we had a brief, gentle rain, a real rain; not freezing rain, not a "wintry mix," not freezing drizzle, a real, honest to goodness Spring rain from heaven. In the woods, the last patches of snow are melting and green is starting to replace white as a dominant color. One of my favorite authors, Robin Wall Kimmerer, wrote a book with the title Gathering Moss. I've almost finished reading it.
It makes me wonder why some of the tree trunks in the nearby woods are covered with moss while others' that look as though they're from the same kind of tree, are bare. That's yet another aspect of this amazing world we live on about which I don't know nearly enough. I do know that April's snow melt and fresh, damp earth smell have reminded me it's time to put up a clothes line and ease off on the use of the clothes dryer. It's been too long since I've slept on freshly air-dried sheets.
Doris Lueth Stengel
At the Clothesline
I lift my arms
to hang a pillowcase.
My face turned upward
warms in daffodil sum.
On the birch crown
a cardinal whistles
for his mate,
while the neighbor's cat
glides through grass
tail twitching.
I stoop, grasp corners
of a sheet, pin one end,
another pin midway
and one at hem.
The sheet fills with April,
a landlocked sail.
The condominium complex
nearby forbids clotheslines,
depriving residents
of this ancient ritual,
this bending and reaching
humble and praising,
usurping their right
to rest in beds fragrant
with a hint of resurrection.
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Please be kind to each other while you can.
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