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It’s
Saturday and there’s a January snow.
The low sun
in an azure sky,
Sets wispy
clouds ablaze,
Painting
long crisp shadows,
On the
countryside.
My father
drives his 41 Chevy pickup,
Purring
along on its six cylinders,
Pulling five
sleds roped in a line.
Brothers and
sisters gliding along,
On country
roads between neat wire fences.
Cows stare
at our caravan,
As we pass
immaculate red barns.
A couple
waves from a kitchen window.
Children
watch with longing smiles,
At children
shrieking and laughing in their delight.
As snow
billows from sled runners,
An
occasional rabbit is roused,
From his
grassy refuge in roadside ditches.
The first
sledder steers from side to side,
Causing the
last sled to crack-the-whip,
Trying to
dump its rider.
At last, the
crack-the-whip sledder is dumped,
Rolling and
sliding in the snow.
Two sets of
jeans and gloves cushion the fall.
Those still
on sleds yell for dad to stop.
Feet go up
to hit the bumper to avoid going under,
While those
following, brake with dragging feet.
White
crystals engulf me as I tumble.
I laugh and
smile as I rise,
To shake
snow from pant legs and sleeves.
I walk to
the first sled in line.
Brothers and
sisters move back one sled,
As the last
in line challenges the “wild one”.
Many winter
snows have fallen.
I’m wise
enough now to know,
That Hugh
Josiah Latimer had the most fun of all.
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