Shining Slant and Other Poems
by Elizabeth Wickland
SHINING SLANT
It shines slant
In the fall,
Laying shadows long,
Stretching them out
Preparing for night.
The glow it casts on the mountains,
The trees,
Shimmers with the magic
Of bedtime stories
Woven with light
Before the darkness falls.
It is these stories we remember,
Told in dancing colors,
Shining halos
Around dandelion clocks,
Sanctifying time
For planting new beauty
With their angelic song,
A choir in the lawn,
Fairy throng.
And these the moments
We are filled before night
Before light
Fades, before fall
Falls prey
To the wild months of winter.
These are the moments
That will light our way,
Shelter us in peace,
Cover us with light,
Shining slant
As we drift into sleep.
MOTHER NATURE
Have you noticed
how she lets down her hair
in the fall? As if,
having completed her work,
she can take a deep breath,
release a sigh,
and relax—
the tension dropping
like acorns
from her shoulders.
In September
she undoes her topknot,
shakes out her tangled locks,
and laughs
with bright, colorful joy
at a job well done.
Her roots dig deep,
crossed, like legs, beneath the tree,
and she drifts off,
exhausted,
golden tresses spilling
into a bed of leaves.
She knows the peace of mothers,
having birthed newness,
tucked the wild ones in,
tended the nest, empty,
releasing seeds to the wind.
Equal parts exhaustion
and peace,
she knows:
This rest quiets all
for a season.
FOR THE LOVE OF WINTER
Winter kissed me with her cold lips,
And I shivered, then stepped
Headlong into wind’s embrace.
My cheeks redden with her touch,
And she takes my breath away—
Chills tingling down my spine.
Is this what it is to be in love
With winter’s fair complexion
Shamelessly basking in the bright
Light and long shadows,
Revealing all, so that I see
Her everywhere, on every face?
Tokens of her affection,
A thousand whispered nothings
Rush in and snow clings
Like kisses on my shoulders,
Arms, cheeks, and forehead, resting
Gently for a moment before melting
At the warmth of my presence, as transformed
by me as I am by her. It is impossible
to stand so close and emerge unchanged.
ELIZABETH WICKLAND
Elizabeth Wickland lives in Bozeman, Montana, with her husband, daughter, and two Yorkies. She has a love for words and their stories and has responded to life through poetry and art for as long as she can remember. Elizabeth also enjoys gardening and cultivating beauty in her small corner of the world, whether in person or online.
She writes for The Black Barn Online, and her work is published in The Unmooring, Calla Press, and The Rabbit Room Poetry Substack, among others.
You can find Elizabeth on Instagram at @punamulta.priory and on Substack.