Bones

On a gray afternoon
I see the shape
of the aspen tree
anew. . .

Bittersweet

Sitting in this quiet studio

(husband and son off on their adventures in the world)

as snow falls steadily outside. 

Hours spent this morning on the phone and computer,

attending to - caring for - relationships. 

Now I turn to the strand of bittersweet,

clipped and unwound from the rose brambles, 

waiting for me . . .