… a Moment

I ski upon the
memory
of a path
upon the snow
fallen
from the twinkling of stars
long ago.
I move along the path
made glacial and
hard
by the many boots
of men
following me.
I ascend a
terrain
which undulates noticeably
up
when early in my
trek
it was all downhill.
I collect upon
my cheek
a snowflake
loosened
from the evergreens
shadowing
the tracks.

As a child
I was filled with strength
afraid of the dark
cold in the bath
hot in my bed
reading
learning
forging a future
hiding a present
I knew only
to be
and I struggled
to be
‘old’
as I
made forts
with sticks and bark
and discovered
a continent
in a gully.
And every year
past the gathering
of fallen wood
split and piled
upon a porch,
the air would grow cold
my nostrils would stick
and I would eat the wet
snow
balled onto
my mittens
sewn by my
grandmother
and I dove into drifts
a childhood transported
through time
from snowmen
and snowballs
thrown
with softball precision
to college transits
in sneakers
and wet Chinooks
… l learned to
dread
the winter.

I have searched
through
seasons
trying to make sense
of my climate
change
of the new
patterns
of melting mixed
with ice
of a ground
hard
and at once
falling away
beneath
my kicks.

As a man
I left
my hearth and
stepped
upon the
threatening sticks
waxed and
slippery
put myself in tracks
made by others
and found
motion
forward
… found my childhood
in the eyes of my
manhood.

From fear
to headlamps
upon my
knitted brow
I found magic
in the
moonlight
and solitude
chased by
echoes of my
kicks
reflecting
crystals that
hypnotize
the deer and rabbits
and time
stands still
and I am alone
in the universe
without purpose
caught in a moment
mine.

At the start of every
winter
I shiver again
for the first time
forgetting the
feeling,
the crispness of the cold
which searches through
my wicking threads
to the heat of my
heart
… childhood
and playing
in the snow
a cold
memory
only chills
of amnesia.
The wind sears
through me
as I start that descent
pushed back by
adrenaline that
rushes to meet me
and with each
flex
of tricep and hamstring
my body awakens
my blood is fired
and winter
becomes
my lover
holding
me tight
and I am
warmed by the
embrace.

The hills get steeper
my muscles
rage
in raw rebellion
against
the cruel finite —
calendars
shorten
each winter
while I still
will
myself
further
… testing
defying
arguing
ignoring
skiing past the cut off
burning
my boats upon the
foreign shores
pushing further
myself.

Caught between
then and now
I feel ready
… for something.
I have acclimated
I feel
the cold and shiver
yet bare my chest
I remember
whistling along
paths
once to school
now a romantic walk
with my wife
picking wildflowers
and taking
photographs
and still
in the moment
forget
that seasons
are variable
defined
and short.

Spring comes
earlier
now
the ground
mottled with ice
bare
in front of me
… there is no way
back to winter and
pussy willows
will soon
once more
purr against
my face.

So I catch this
moment
now —
close my eyes
remember
a half-century
then
open my eyes
today —
step onto
the hardness
of both realizing
and accepting
that sometimes
it is better
to just take off
my skis
and walk
the path
that is
mine.

All text and photography © Dale Schierbeck

…. more of my original Poetry on EatsWritesShoots here.