Blink in the light, newborn,
follow the aspen shivers,
gaze at its reversal
distorted in a wind-ruffled puddle,
glance at impossible blues
variegated in the chinks between leaves.
Where the crown meets sky
glimpse a tender melting of edges,
note the tree exhale cloud,
cloud taste leaf.
* In 1970, when my son was a newborn, we stayed in a cabin on Pender Island, and I would sit outside under aspen trees and watch him, and the trees, willing him to see the beauty around us, to become a person who really “sees”. I try to remember to see daily with newborn eyes!