The Return
Upon arrival
there will be the sound
of clean and heavy falling water
into hard, cracked ground.
There will be piles of stone around you –
semi-precious, freckled brown and white ones
marked with red –
these will be the ones we’ll borrow.
You will learn to recognize them by their color.
Pick them up and take them home.
This is only the beginning.
Tuesday Something
And what does it matter
I’ve been sitting at the window all day
watching fall
leaves glitter on the water?
It doesn’t really matter,
does it?
Pushing Off
I would rather be
days away from here,
slowly inching out across the water
toward a solitary place.
This time,
the water’s full of whispering sounds,
and something tells me
the mist beneath the rain has ended.
I can finally feel myself returning.
Sarah Rehfeldt lives in western Washington with her family. She is a writer, artist, and photographer.
Her most recent publication credits include: Assisi Journal; Windhover; The Awakenings Review; and A Prairie Journal.
Her photography web pages can be viewed here: Web Site
Email: Sarah Rehfeldt
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