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
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