by Ann B. Day
A tiny clump
of yellow and white,
leaves green, so green
along the pavement path,
edged by ice and snow,
wind scattering dried,
pointy, oak leaves,
thermometer 3 below,
yet there you are,
buds, yellow and white,
a small clump,
of blooming violets
in January.
Ann B. Day moved into a cottage at the RiverMead Retirement Community in Peterborough, New Hampshire, in 2013. She and her family owned a working guest farm in Mad River Valley of Vermont, where they raised Highland cattle, taught skiing, and held writing retreats for 50 years. She belongs to the Monadnock Writers’ Group and the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Ann writes a nature column for the weekly Valley Reporter and publishes nature books and annual engagement calendars with her poetry and photos. Her poems have been printed in many publications, including Time Magazine, The Lyric, Green Mountain Trading Post, New England Memories, and The Poets’ Touchstone.
Smoky Quartz 