by g emil reutter
And on the hill covered in a foot of snow
Sleds and spheres they travel up and
down the mighty hill in chaos.
We watch from the porch of the old
museum, remember the past.
And as dusk turns to night the
moonless sky blends into icy hill.
You grab the wooden sled, run, and dive upon
it, take flight as wind catches your hair.
And as the sled soars you soar through memories
laugh as a teenager would.
You climb back to the top, run and fly down the
I take a ride or two until we double up, blades
cutting ice until we reach bottom.
And there among the teenagers and parents with
young kids in the darkness of a winter night we
laugh and unbeknownst to those around us, we of
middle age have one last ride on the hill.