snow and sun, image by Алексей, on Pixabay
Calling Out for a Miracle
Though it’s March and 23 degrees,
snow covering most of the ground,
the sun’s out, thank God, and clouds float
across a blue sky. I can live with any temperature
as long as the sun is there, sending down
its crisp light on the firepit, across the rowboat,
overturned, piled high with snow,
on my smiling face as I lift my gaze
to the heavens. Two deer, barely visible,
walk through a row of trees in back. A fat crow
sits on the highest branch of a maple, unfazed
by the world below. But there’s so much to see,
so much to know, so much to do, sometimes,
I get anxious that I’ve missed my life, or I’m missing out
on the person I was born to be
by not trying to find
the miracles at my feet, the gems in my eyes.
But that feeling passes when I trudge through
the snow drifts, head across the field and yell my name
just to hear it echo back off the sky.
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Born and raised on the third coast, Michigan, David James has published seven books and has had more than thirty of his one-act plays produced.
March 2024 issue
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