Outside the window
The pure white mountain
Is calling to us.
I hurry into my coat.
“Come on, Daddy!”
Up the hill we climb –
Sled in tow;
My daddy and I,
Ready to race down
The mountain of snow.
Afterwards
We run inside,
Rosy-cheeked
And laughing,
Sipping hot chocolate
And planning another run.
***

I wrote this poem when I was a senior in high school (yes, M.E. and Lynn, this is the day I trot out Stained Glass and capitalize on the T-Man!). I stumbled upon it the other day when I was looking through the books on the shelves above my desk in the study (yes, I will do almost anything to avoid writing some days). There are three shelves, containing reference books, a smattering of books I wish I had written, books about writing, the meager “collection” of things I have written (a pathetic attempt at journal-keeping from the Chicago years, my book of story ideas, and the aforementioned poetry booklet, Stained Glass, from high school) and mementos/inspirational objects. I pulled it off the shelf, wondering whether there might be an literary gems I could mine for profit or inspiration (highly unlikely, but still, one never knows now does one?) and found the four poems I had submitted. Of all of them, this one made the strongest impression on me (I may incorporate the others into other posts – in progressively more overwritten order, perhaps – for your entertainment. Then again I may not. Teehee).
Continue reading Magic, or You Can Be Six Again