The Hill
We cannot direct the wind…but we can adjust the sails (Source unknown)
Long past
I jump from my bed, pull my longjohns on.
Peeking out the window, the snow has started to fall.
Slipping on my overalls, I race quickly
down the hall.
Rushing to the closet, grasping my old
wrap,
I throw it over my shoulder, give the
button a snap.
Working all ten fingers, through the
holes of much-worn mitts,
I stick my feet into the boots that
thankfully still fit.
Faster than is possible, I head
straight for the door.
Behind me I am dragging a sled from
years before.
The wind is loud and howling, snow is
blowing all around.
Already what has fallen has covered the
ground.
Tramping through the deepness, only my
footprints to see,
I head straight for the meadow, the
hill is waiting for me.
A few more steps, I reach my goal, as
always in the past
I’ll be the first to sled this hill, and I’ll be the very last.
Breathing in the cool night air, I
witness the year’s first snow.
Perhaps this is my favorite spot, in
all the sights I know.
Holding tight in a world of silence, I
shove off with my feet.
Wind is picking up my hair, snow hits
against my teeth.
Traveling faster and faster, I struggle
not to tip.
Stretching out my snow-damp legs, I
lean from hip to hip.
What a big delight, this morn has given
thee.
As all years before have done, when
it’s just this hill and me.
Now if I do my best to hurry, I can
take another run.
The sun will soon be rising, the day
will have begun.
But before that can happen, I must be
back in bed.
For whatever would the children think……if they knew Grandma used their sled!
Reprinted with permission
from Chicken Soup for
the Unsinkable Soul
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