[natigvik: Inuit for snowdrift]

When I was a kid of fifteen
I was a downhill skiing fanatic:
I competed in races and skied
every chance I got.

On weekends
that included taking the bus
out to the big ski hill
and skiing across the lake
and into the bush to the ski tow.

After the day was over
I would ski out
and wait alone for the bus
at the side of the wide lake
with my skis and my packsack.

This day, I remember,
I arrived at the bus stop
in time to see the bus
chugging up the hill
away from me.
A storm was blowing up,
it was getting dark
and I had to wait
an hour for the next bus.

I could either freeze to death
in the open wind
that swept across the lake
or take action.
I had no choice:
I burrowed into
the huge snowdrift
out of the wind
and contemplated
my wonderful day
while I waited out the storm
secure and comfortable
in natigvik.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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