My brown leather boot disappears into the
white, downy crust that covers the earth.
A few hundred steps later and I find myself by a pond--
a frozen halo caressing the edges, suddenly broken by
a heron taking flight.
Cardinals play in the branches above the water.
Thorned trees, the names of which I am uneducated on,
drop clumps of snow on my head.
My notebook is soaked; the ink, now in spiderwebs charged
by the water, s(preads)lithers to the outermost bounds of the lines.
I am happy.
I begin to step in the opposite direction of the lake, making my
own personal perforations in the snow.
I happen to find myself on a road.
Step, step, step, step. Up over a hill.
Is that the ghost of Thomas Merton that I hear, venturing alongside of me?
No, I suppose not. It’s the sound of silence broken by the beat of my steps.
A puppy approaches me, dragging its owner along. I give it a pet, admire its
fox-red fur, and then we part.
I hear an engine start and the scrape, scrape, scrape
of a brush against a window.
I venture past four cows, who somehow find grass to graze on underneath the thick,
white powder.
Around a curve, over train tracks, each tie causing the snow to ripple.
Across a bridge, over a creek and into the snowy hills of Kentucky I go.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
My brown leather boot disappears into the
white, downy crust that covers the earth.
A few hundred steps later and I find myself by a pond--
a frozen halo caressing the edges, suddenly broken by
a heron taking flight.
Cardinals play in the branches above the water.
Thorned trees, the names of which I am uneducated on,
drop clumps of snow on my head.
My notebook is soaked; the ink, now in spiderwebs charged
by the water, s(preads)lithers to the outermost bounds of the lines.
I am happy.
I begin to step in the opposite direction of the lake, making my
own personal perforations in the snow.
I happen to find myself on a road.
Step, step, step, step. Up over a hill.
Is that the ghost of Thomas Merton that I hear, venturing alongside of me?
No, I suppose not. It’s the sound of silence broken by the beat of my steps.
A puppy approaches me, dragging its owner along. I give it a pet, admire its
fox-red fur, and then we part.
I hear an engine start and the scrape, scrape, scrape
of a brush against a window.
I venture past four cows, who somehow find grass to graze on underneath the thick,
white powder.
Around a curve, over train tracks, each tie causing the snow to ripple.
Across a bridge, over a creek and into the snowy hills of Kentucky I go.
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