The chore Rainbow glistens of white to the farthest horizon in the stillness of cold air. The virgin path still left before me, at the birches and pines I stare. Softly how all bends to me as each step is true and clear. The moon so bright it seems like day and cautions disappear. It seems almost play to reach the shed to gather the warmth to cover night. That I slide whenever the grade is uneven, like a penguin taking flight. I would look odd were a stranger present to make such chore seem fun. Throwing snowballs at every helpless enemy and hitting every one. I was forced to make an angel as I was designing all around. I’m making this landscape, of my constant changes, an art across the ground. Back on track I need to gather our needs till coming day. Slowly dredging onward till another distraction comes my way. I make each ball, one by one, and stack them neatly in their place. I ever check homes window, for sign of alarm, that doesn’t take place. I finally arrive and finally gather, now it’s homeward I must go. Moving at quicker a pace than I had planned when playing in the snow. My mother seems far less than impressed as I leave the dusting on the floor. Now in my silence, she vents and I smile, and then gently close the door.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Oct 2013 09:27:42 +0000
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