I’ve returned to this river valley
for the peace—
to do nothing
but watch the light
on the pancake-rock hills
and listen.

Jays whistle in passing, crows cackle
from empty branches, and a vee
of honking geese points away
high overhead. I know
it’s their off-season,
yet the cranes I patiently hope for
arrive, cut through the ashen sky, with calls
ancient like this land.

Mostly, this morning
I listen for the clip-clop of a horse and buggy,
wait for the black shapes to appear
along the snaking curves of the empty road,
turn into the next valley, disappear
into its snow-dappled folds
as another day—
this one my birthday—
rolls into time.

Christel Maass enjoys spending time in nature—hiking, gardening, or simply listening to and observing the world around her—noticing moments that inspire her writing. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in Your Daily Poem, Portage Magazine, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Moss Piglet, and others.