Saturday, April 2, 2016

alternating snow and sun

Note to Erin on Beeches and Arvo Pärt

Remember that day driving at winter's end,
when flakes of the last snow were starting to fall,
and we stopped the car before a scruffy hill
where sapling beeches line the rutted road?
Those pale-copper, persistent leaves gather light
and hold it, never falling, stubborn,
as if they render brightness from the air.
“Für Alina” was our music that day,
the distinct notes clinging, aching to be notes,
then lasting, fading slowly, radiant.
Today, hundreds of miles from you, I walked
among beeches, when hard, stingy pellets of snow
shushed on the unthawed spring ground,
and despite the clouds' argument for darkness,
wind licked gleams from the edges of beech leaves.
I wondered who Alina was. I thought of you. That's all.

1 comment:

  1. the music was so absolutely fitting. i wonder if the beeches had been waiting all of time for that particular convergence to reach perfection. or if the music had been waiting for the beeches to become its body. and what of the late snowfall? and the light retained and thrown by the leaves?

    or perhaps it was only a place in us, inside our longing, which waited for the marriage of sound, texture and light - the becoming of one.

    everything was so liminal...

    (your last line - the observations and the wondering. and then the touch. the being together. knowing one another and the world through one another. that is all. so perfectly and gently said. what more might there be?)

    i would like to live this life. i would like such an experience. such a memory.