Ruts II

Poem by Claudette Bouman

In a rut you inch, only digging deeper
A nest is a rut, until young wings hold
The red maple seed thought it lived in a rut
Until it took root and grew
Now its butterfly seeds populate winds

Escaping ruts transports us into interior lives
To discover spaces of promise
To find art in the power of action
Rewriting a life of memories
Where spinning kernels hypnotize in breezes
And seed-parachutes wing off to dream

Rut’s opposite is
The breadth of a heron’s wings sculpting mists
And a cardinal’s cheer piercing green spaces
Beneath a rangy, liquid sky

Digital version available here.