Nestled behind a
ragged line of pin oaks,
roots tangled in solidarity
on this sodden land,
you wait
to become home.
The pooling of rain
in low corners
gives viewers pause:
Will your inside space
stay dry
when spring puddles push
against foundation?
Where others see
swamp and mud
and mourn
the loss
of a tidy yard,
I behold a hearth
held in fen magic:
fireflies sway
in your mired trees,
wood frogs thrum
your stories.
By Judith Zelis
Judith Zelis rediscovered the solace of the natural world in her sixties, around the same time she rediscovered writing.
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