Windows, wide with possibility, how they seem to
Draw me near, and in the ignorant bliss of
Youth I peered out on midnight drives
Convinced the man in the moon was hot on the
Trail in pursuit of our minuscule clunker
Old faithful, and in hindsight, maybe he was after all
Mama threw open the shutters on those rare occasions where
Powdered snow blanketed southeastern wilderness and
Lonely hilltop where our cozy cabin stood as
Smoke billowed out of lone stone column and
Each icy, crystalline flake, I studied with
Sleepy eyes fixated on the grace and glory with which they
Wafted, down from the heavens, to join unified body on earth
No two quite crafted just alike, but humbly surrendering their
Unique designs to form a seamless whole, and how can it be that
Frozen water droplets outshine us like that?
I lay there nuzzled into my mother’s every crevice and
Greedily siphoning warmth from her familiar body that was my
First home, and into my sleepy ears she sang Silent Night, and a
Frigid, crystal clear, silent night it was, indeed
Out of those same windows I fearfully watched as
Flashing bolts of light sometimes struck ground before the
Raging, rolling roar that followed, but I could never stand it for
Long before I scurried off to take cover in my blanket fort bunker, but
Now these same storms excite me, arousing the energy of
Creation out of my bones where it lies dormant as a
Mighty switch flips on to peel back the blockages and
Electricity flows free, and I watch from behind the
Panes of thin glass and wonder what I’m meant to see
Abby Jordan is an aspiring writer and young mother from South Carolina.