The house catches the beauty of the evening sun
only for a moment – a cloud at the hilltop
snatches it up, uses it for a lining

Tears can gather on anything,
easy as raindrops, easy as a squall
appearing at the hilltops, then rushing through

There is beauty in the streaked view
after many tears, the way the landscape
multiplies emotions, the way the thistle
embodies such elegance,
such confident self-knowing,
how its elongating leaves point up
with a symmetry recalling snowflakes

I can go through a storm, I can do it
as often as I need to. When I come out,
the land will be here,
offering its tender lessons.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 15, 2021