What the Light Can Conjure If you find it (and it may find you unexpectedly), hold on to it with your eyes for a very long time. Stretch it out against the evening before it disappears. If you’re lucky, you can watch it go back to where it came from.
Sarah Rehfeldt lives with her family in western Washington where she is a writer, artist, and photographer. Her poems have appeared in Blueline; Appalachia; Presence: An International Journal of Spiritual Direction; and Weber – The Contemporary West. She finds inspiration in the close-up world of macro nature photography. Favorite subjects include her garden; the forest; cloudscapes; and the ever-plentiful raindrops of western Washington. You can view her photography web pages at: www.pbase.com/candanceski
Amethyst Review 