Short walk.
Softly snow falls,
quiet, seeing.
A flake floats, hovering moment.
Changes the way
back, continues to descend.
Surfer skimming crystal.
Tender power, creation,
cutback along the crest.
Then on down.
Down down down
below the swell.
Crunches underboot.
Breathless moment
interrupted.
Rigs on the highway.
Distance of thousands,
far. But not so.
Sounds another dimension.
Gliding across waves,
a million miles across.
© 2019 Martin C. Fredricks IV
Martin C. “Red” Fredricks IV here. I’m husband to an amazing woman who is also my best friend, dad to three outstanding kids, Fargoan (North Dakota, that is), proud introvert, veteran messaging strategist/copywriter, and big-time reader. As they say, if you're gonna write good stuff, you have to read good stuff. A ginger, too - ergo the "Red" - although some of it's going white. Cinnamon-Sugar, I call it. Tattooed to boot; seven so far. At age 54, I'm stilling crankin' AC/DC & Metallica, but now and again I spin some Eric Church and Black Uhuru, too. I love hanging out with my (much) better half, spending time with our kids, writing, hiking, riding my mountain bike and reading.
I will tell you the thing / I will never forget. / Watching them die / in breathless regret...
Let me tell you how bad it is: / Last week / my neighbor was out in the field / trying to get some kind of crop in. / He got stuck….
First published in the Fall 1995 edition of "Reflections," a quarterly by Wordshop Publications in Conway, Ark.
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1 Comment
Hope Comes to Life - · December 17, 2020 at 12:26 pm
[…] giant flakes floated down for a few hours last week, resting softly but melting quickly on the dogs’ backs as we walk the […]