remembering snow  

remembering snow
remembering how, after Dad had woken us up,
got us to put our snowsuits on over our pajamas
and taken us sledding
how the hill that we wouldn't have dared toboggan in the daytime
looked so smooth and safe by moonlight
and new snow
how quickly sleep was forgotten,
brushed away like fresh powder in icy wind
and even when the epilogue to that story, that downhill rush
was a fifteen-minute walk back up the hill
in snow up to our knees
it was such a damn good story
we kept telling it again and again
and hearing it:
it was in the tracks, left by our boots in the snow,
they looked so small and alien the next morning
not quite real, like evidence of dreams
it was in our snowsuits hanging to dry by the wood stove,
it was in the drops of water under them,
the story was in the dripping sounds and the crackling fire
it was in Dad's truck with him, too
I know it was
when he drove to work at seven a.m.
while we were still asleep

© 2006 Kelly Shepherd