Archive
12/24/09 - (3)
Snowshoeing into Christmas Eve
This exquisite blizzard began at midnight. Now, another six to eight fluffy inches of powder, Accumulated on top of the nine or so fallen a week ago,
Make snowshoeing, in full cold-weather gear, A fantasy begging me to bring it into reality's embrace, Imploring me to enter the woods, tread on its untainted slate —
The color of Carrara marble — which gives as quicksand does, Albeit with a grip not nearly so relentless. My thighs are challenged, retrieving feet, equilibrium,
Just to repeat that sinking sensation leading to painful ecstasy, Keep me moving through the hushed, ever-green forest Filled with bough-bending pines of all varieties.
The only sounds, for millenniums around this emptiness, Resonate from me, engaging the essence of elemental joy Emanating from that nexus between spirit and soul.
I stop, to let my lips and tongue sip from a chalice Held by a white-tufted sprig of a Norway spruce; The crystallized ichor I drink sates my thirst.
Dusk envelops me long before I notice its descent. Magical flakes, tumbling through the darkening lattices Of birches, maples, poplars, oaks, and ashes,
Fill these woods so gradually, They might be doves escaping the sky's cages. I'm dazzled by the most unimaginably fluttering wonderment.
Now, the rear gate to the boys' camp, Where I began, an hour and a half earlier, locates me — My weary, if completely rejuvenated, silhouette, anyway.
I hate that I've finished my peregrination, for the afternoon, But Christmas Eve awaits me, at the cabin, Where the woods — my little tree — will surround me.
12/24/09 - (3)
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