Paschal Moon

I step into the dark from the kitchen door
without a sound,
waiting for her to show herself.

There she is – hiding in the branches,
The redwood laughing at her pranks.
I stand, silent, waiting for her to peek through the leaves of the hard maple.
She loves to shine at just the right moment.
– there she is – she darts between the branches,
And again.

I wait.
The trees wait.
In a moment, the trees shimmer,
A breeze running through the silence of their lifted arms:
Praying, dancing,
we sway, shiver,
bend to worship her.

Mary Elyn Bahlert, 4/10/2020