woodland

The woods are full of snow as I walk alone.

The branches bend, beckoning my body home.

Thorns pull me back

it is their delay that provides my waiting,

my stillness in all this white.

The crunching under my boots is a sound I had forgotten,

yet so familiar I feel as though it comes from within.

A million memories flood me;

barreling down that hill on an already broken sleigh,

crashing and repeating until our bodies ache with pain.

My favorite Christmas night.

Hours of shoveling, a Buffalo delight.

Your coat and breath, your hands in mine.

The bone chilling realities of being left and alone.

The comfort and sacredness of home.

I walk the hills and the frozen creek beds

following the tracks of life that disappeared moments before I came.

Tears form at the corners of my eyes

and I can’t place my finger on why.