Marjorie A. Buettner...


March 20th

I watch the snow--light, white petals of flowers, as soft and as deep as spring rain--fall and repose on tree limbs, on stones, until by falling (like seconds falling into minutes, into hours) accumulate, almost blossom, then fade, melting into something less than itself, into something more. It is as if there were an invisible sun in them. Is it not a form of dying, then, these snow-blossoms that never last, that cannot stay; they make a trail as deep and as long as a falling star or shooting comet, scarring the night sky and the history of constellations until its disappearance leaves the sky as astonished looking or as apologetic as our faces, turned in disbelief, watching the snow fall.

March 20th at the highest tree limb one cardinal's song

WHCHaibun 2002-03-20

Copyright Marjorie Buettner, 2002