Heatherlessness still takes me by surprise.
Less so the dried up stalks of summer flowers
And lovely ones remaining once I’ve pruned
And blusterings of wind that brings the leaves down
Iconic for September afternoons.
It’s in the moments in between my conscious thought
As when I may reach out to flip a light switch
Forgetting once again the power’s out
I notice I expect to feel her light touch.
It’s sweet to know that far away she blossoms
To hear, in frequent news of what she’s doing,
The edges of a tale of flight so awesome
We’ll need to read between the lines to fathom.
Or so, at least, is my parental hope
As she transitions to a grander scope
I hold her image clear before my eyes
But Heatherlessness still takes me by surprise.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 19, 2011