by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Yesterday
I caught a glimpse
of my reflection
in a window,
an old, white-haired person
I did not recognize.
But the person
inside,
an ageless bell,
leapt like the hare
we saw this morning on our walk
far above our heads
and sent its
resonance of rapture
out across
the snow-covered mountains
as the wind
began to shape it.
fourwindowspress 