Day 352

December 18, 2021

I'm never going to call a snow day again

Believe it or not there is a muskrat in there.  He was knocking down reeds.

The otters were playing in the center, but the muskrat family was near home.

Prompt # 18

“Once, coming down the long hill”

Jane Kenyon.         

 

Once, coming down the long hill

with Tuffy, her orange long haired best friend

with plowed snow beginning to melt

from the sides into the middle

she slipped on gravel.

 

Some clothing was too tight

some too long and baggy

all together there was too much

hanging off her or binding;

removing all sense of freedom or fluidity

 

Coming down the hill on the road

because the paths were covered too deep

she headed for a friend’s house,

clumsy and dreamy, an unclaimed sadness

left over from loud voices the night before

 

Coming down that long hill

towards Billy’s house or

the bus stop, the trek to town,

she swan in the unknowingness

of grey bleak change.

Etched into the loneliness of

the long slow winter hill

leading away from home

or back up the steep incline to return.

I must admit 54 years later I am still able to get lost in that oblique dreary sadness.