The valley, which has forever been a tapestry of farmland, woods, and faraway barns and houses, has become a series of puddles, or ponds, or maybe they're closer to lakes. For a while today, during a short-lived moment of sunshine, the lakes shimmered blindingly in the light, but now they just gleam palely beneath that very dark sky. However, the world is still an extremely beautiful place. I rediscover that fact every time I decide to have a little ramble in the woods behind our house, or along the grassy path past a half-finished vineyard, or just on the wet black road stretching for a mile before it turns into gravel. Today I was a woodland explorer, and I had a great time meandering over little streams that have appeared magically throughout the past few days. I heard birds singing, chirping, or repeating funny little ditties consisting of only one or two notes. I found a mossy bird nest cupped up in the branches of a hazel tree, listened to the groans of a very old-sounding tree, and admired an orange salamander that I probably scared to death. The salamander handled the "life and death" situation very well; it sat very still and watched me with a remotely interested expression in its solemn black eyes (I'm not really sure if it had an expression, but if I were a salamander I would feel remotely interested)!
These little events are my proof of the world's beauty, these and coming home to a warm, fire-lit house, snowflake wreaths decorating our windows, and a few hours of free afternoon to fill up. Oh yes, and the lakes in the valley:)
Mirror Water
A peerless, gleaming light
Painted on miles of water,
Stretched from field
To rain-drenched field
Under a mist-blown sky.
Trees linger in flickering
Reflections, suffused in
Tiny, scudding wavelets
That ripple like the air
Vibrating with a bird's cry.
Each rainbow drop,
Falling from tangled
Grey clouds up above,
Is a mirror of sunlight
As it slides down to the earth.
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