Monday's Walk

I am buried under layers 

sweater, neck warmer, vest

wool and warm

thick socks squeeze my ankles

inside my gray boots laced up to the knee

with soggy mittens I paw at my

ill fitting cap

stretched out, misshapen and slipping over one eye then the other

We walk fast through the snow crunching through the top layer

Up hill and winded

I grab hold of lean trees 

Pissing and moaning under my breath that I just want to take a walk

Branches swack my head as you push through the growth

ahead of me 

wet whips with clinging leaves or stunted limbs

I am self conscious of how often I need to stop

because my legs get ragged feel like they are flapping

 The town gets smaller

white and brick houses get blurry  the church steeple and court house well below us

 the smell of pine lots and wood fire smoke spouting from chimneys in

slow motion then held in the crisp air that fogs with our breath 

and steams from sweat

sometimes we find ourselves on

paths well worn

tracked by deer and skittering voles

We guess that some are made by squirrels

Rabbits are easier, their hind legs dragging give them away

We take just a moment to look out before heading

 down, heels first through ledges made deeper by fallen trees

delicate dance so as not to get tangled

we make our way

 along the river where the water rushes under

crusty mounds, like fragile glass 

delicate swirls around glazed rocks

mist rises

Then up and over the bank to the wooden foot bridge

with snow piled on the sides and rails

It falls silently, slowly 

with each step and vibration

We make our way to the ball field which is untouched, 

a pale quilt

smooth with soft snow shooshing across

what is frozen

once across

we slip out of our snowshoes

to walk home on a familiar road

over the crumbling bridge that rumbles when

the log trucks roll by

we wave back at friendly strangers

and neighbors

under a late day sky 

washed in grays and blues

buttery light fades 

from our quiet valley

It is winter

Not because the air is colder,

or the days shorter,

 and

the morning commute slower

and slippery,

sloshing on single lane roads,

in early gray, blue light that looks like the entrance to heaven

when straight rays reach from the heavy clouds

and I feel I should say an "Amen" and take a moment to ask for direction for the day

I pray for patience and understanding

and the right words while

heading due north

behind yellow school buses

and weighted pick ups with

logs shifting side to side

with each bend in the road

carefully, and old drivers heading to their morning appointments

cigarette smoke swirling from the crack in the window

slow creaking neck turns side to side

merciless braking

then end of day

quieter, smoother ride home under silhouettes of creaking trees

wild turkeys huddled on the new crunchy snow the ground

is not quite ready to receive

I shiver just looking at them

dark and lost

Once home

opening the door

to the wood heat blast and the smell of 

bacon cooked late morning

after Tim's routine of coffee and reading,

correspondence

and a handful of vitamins

Lights on 

and changing clothes fast

tugging on boots

wrapping our necks

for a walk 

catching the last light from the top of the village,

washes of pale yellow light and gray that soften my heart

which is sometimes heavy from the day

our fingers twist together through wool gloves

as we look out, trying to

catch our breath

in the night air

I am the mother of three daughters

Who astonish me at every turn

They are smart and poised

filled with joy

and fearlessness

they amaze me

all the time

Take my breath away

with the art they create

They are writers and painters

photographers

comedians

runners

joggers

yogis

teachers

dancers

God, how they love to dance

every day people

grounded by their experiences

hard workers, such freakin' hard  workers

introspective and with extraordinary perspective

journeying forward 

committed to doing good things

acknowledging others who struggle

looking them clear in the eye

and reaching out to lift up

being kind and thoughtful

loving their lives

appreciative of the gifts that surround them to include 

love

big love

Oh my I am so proud to be

your mother

so pleased to know such lovely women

love love love holdng your hands
when we walk together.

It's All Uphill

when I lose my footing I understand it is a reminder

to find the right shoes

aimless and wandering is fine if you have boots

or a paddle to move through water pushed by wind

it becomes important to pay attention

to the moon's rising

and light

long shadows cast

so people can see you coming

or going

it's hard to know what sound to make

when you are just about to pass them.

Place

There was a stream I loved to walk into

Cold water screaming at my ankles, then calves...black rubber tube... I laid back in its welcome circle warmed by the sun

Extended my legs

and said hello to the big blue sky that made me dizzy with clouds that floated by

not sure which of us was moving faster

Water surface like keen jeweled light

tip toeing then dancing comfortably to its own secret rhythm

ordered by wind and melt then sent from far away

Bumping from rock to mossy rock

Pushing off from deeper sides, rich smells of soil sliding from the edge

and lush sweet moss

Water the color of leaves and tree roots breaking down

Rich glowing amber 

Around the bend small gray birds lift up when they feel me coming and water follows from their wings

a new stream caught in exquisite light

and a moment

that settled inside me 

and remains

This Likeness

This Purpose

You told me that you were afraid that your life was not on schedule

That the course was not clear

You could not picture yourself in a place

I listened to your worries but

I know I never had them, until I had daughters, because I let myself drift along until I bumped into you,

I was young then and my heart was open

You took it over from the moment I knew you were there, resting and growing in my belly

waiting for your time to arrive in my arms

 and now I want so badly to tell you how wonderful it is

to have come to this place and time when each day is recognized as a gift

not always wrapped neatly

Sometimes the hands that hold it ache or tremor

Not just from angst or anticipation

Mostly my breath is taken away

By the measure of who you have each become

Like it or not

The purpose of this life was to bear witness

to possibility

and not just my own.

I dive into the water several nights per week

I know I am there for quiet and to hear myself breath

water warming against my skin with each

awkward stroke

changing it up side to side, front to back

dragging myself across the surface

while the bored lifeguard flicks himself awake

He avoids eye contact and it's okay with me

I just wish I were a better swimmer

For fun I envision myself as a butterfly 

not panicked when I close my eyes and

 bump into the cool blue sides

, thinking I will feel the water better that way

I am determined

To propel myself forward

Making time

against that aimless clock with the giant hand that clucks with each move

never set for swimmers like me

who refuse to wear a rubber cap

or goggles

sometimes floating

Just because I can