winter path

head down he walks the same diagonal path
he walked last week and endless weeks before
and scrupulously notes forgets and notes
each paw- and footprint scattered in the snow

each tells a tale to store away for sleep
here lovers met and there a conversation
and underneath those trees she dug her heel
and there one stamped his feet in sheer frustration

and there a dog dug for the ghost of bone
and here a squirrel and after him a cat
and someone took a shortcut through the drifts
and here the plough pushed drifts as far as that

he’s reached the end; the story has been told
and all’s behind: forgotten, still and cold

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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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2 Responses to winter path

  1. drew says:

    ooo love the footprints and uses of them. last stanza was as amazing as the rest, but i loved the driving plough.. very nice.

  2. riverwriter says:

    I wrote the idea of this one on my way to play bridge yesterday. It was a cold brisk day, and there were footprints much as I described; but the thing that struck me is that I seem to walk, head down when I am alone on an accustomed path, and I study the surface I am walking on with great intensity (probably so I won’t trip), but forget it immmediately after.

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