By Goetschel Pond The sun, like a slender silver coin, slips in and out of gray wool pockets. A drenched black branch with peridot moss lies across a patch of coarsegrain snow next to tufts of orangespotted feathers. Silky gossamer seeds of milkweed spill from follicles shaped like teardrops tethered to a single hollow stem. A pale face glissandos out of clouds and plates the tall prairie grass gold while the pond’s slush glows like bone china placed on a doily for tea and scones. I climb a hill through ancestral trees, oak, birch, cherries, basswood, and aspen. Dullish leaves shine like lamé mittens fastened to odd umbrella clotheslines. Halfway up, I pause for a moment, embrace a hoary quercus alba, and think back to autumn in moonlight, how a chorus of Canada geese honked, winged, and descended in concert to the silent, satin, inkblue pond.
Focusing now on poetry and textile art, Andrea E. Johnson is retired from a public health career in St. Paul/Minneapolis, Minnesota. Her work has appeared in BoomerLit and is forthcoming in an anthology to be published by St. Paul Almanac in 2021. She lives in Lake Elmo, Minnesota.
Amethyst Review 