All
There was no reason to stay there
Under the dark fir trees
At the edge of the forest.
Even the birds had flown from them.
She had heard the rustle of wings
Like so many pages of a book
Flipped through again and again.
But there was no book of course,
Only wind and wings.
And the woman going deeper
And deeper into the woods–
Maple, hemlock, oak, ironwood, ash.
And other trees she could not name.
A flash of sun found its way
Through the thick foliage to the mirror
The woman held in her hand.
Even as she looked into it she knew
It was her own shining image
That silvered surface returned,
As she also knew the birds reflected her joy
As they rose higher and higher
Carrying the splendid light on their spread wings.
Copyright © 2003 Margaret Robison
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