Lately,

 

                when a branch pulls at my sleeve

like a child's tug, or the fog, reticent & thick,

lifts--& strands of it hang like spun sugar

in branches & twigs, or when a phoebe

trills from the hackberry,

                            I believe such luck

is meant for me.  Does this happen to you?

Do you believe at times that a moment

chooses you to remember it & tell about it__

so that it may live again?

--Laure-Anne Bosselaar

[Foggy afternoon on the Schoodic Peninsula in Acadia National Park].