The path through the snowy park had been manicured
by a front-end loader that imprinted precise cloven tracks
woven like celtic knots on the edges of an antique bracelet.

Periodically the driver had veered to dump the bucket
left false trails to trap the unwary in the crystalline silence
of sketchy trees planted isolate by quick perfect strokes.

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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.
This entry was posted in aging, Poetry, scapes, snow and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to detail

  1. Kathleen Hay says:

    Love the Celtic knots comparison!

    • riverwriter says:

      Thanks. I Started this on Tuesday, fiddled with it, changing the odd phrase, image, thinking it was going to be about twelve or fifteen lines. But eventually I realized it was just this, and the pattern was the centre of it.

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