Small Miracle

By Sharon Nauta Steele

Saturday morning …

We planted six slender saplings,

Each as bare as Aaron’s rod—

Like willows are in winter.

And yet, we looked to greener days:

“The three shall bring forth fruit,” we said.

“The two shall be for shedding shade.”

“The last shall bear but beauty,

In the dawning and at dusk.”

That very night we heard the hail;

Hard gusts of ice in April bent

Our tiny trees back to the earth:

Six lashes flailing in the wind.

Sad eyes we closed in fitful sleep,

So certain of the wreckage

We would find on waking up.

But Sunday, early Sunday …

We woke to stumble out of sleep;

I pulled the window sash,

The windfall of untimely storm

Already in our sleep-filled eyes.

Yet there six supple saplings stood,

And each, as straight as Aaron’s rod,

Bore snow like promised blossoms, for

The planting had been good.