After the storm, Jenifer DeBellis inhabits a quiet yet intense moment of satisfaction.
Season of Renewal
The patio chairs lift & climb into the wind,
threaten to crash through the glass
before landing in a line of white pines.
All grows still as the power’s snuffed
with a sigh that rushes through rooms
in a single breath. Hours dull the days
till darkness drags a static silence
into the house each night; it settles
at our feet like a prized mouse left
by the cat. Day three & we still walk
through rooms flipping dead switches
out of habit. Frosted tufts of indian grass
are metronomes that mark the time
between sunrise & the first cries of blue
jays & grackles, whose routines
I watch you chop & stack fallen ash
to feed the fire. You stand solid
as the walnut trees that flank you,
rooted to something larger than this
lifetime can contain or explain.
Your strong arms slice through log
after log with rhythmic precision.
This brings me back to simpler seasons
when lazy afternoons in bed washed us
with a silver haze. Nothing but the hush
of secrets between us—the brush
of our words stroking each other’s neck
was all we needed to pass the day.
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