I feel the chill
of it on my cheeks, and the heat on my backside standing close to the old tire
we set afire for warmth.
In my mind's
eye, I see crystals frozen to tree limbs and smell the freshness of clean,
white snow.
I hear cars traveling
the lower road, and the echo of voices rising from the valley floor—no doubt,
moms calling their children home to steaming cups of hot chocolate before
returning to the hill.
Oh, the feeling
of serenity and innocents, I glean from those wonderful memories of a carefree
childhood in winter.
What great
fun—sleigh riding off Cemetery Hill!
Tamara
Hillman ©2009
© Poets retain copyright to their work; obtain a poet's
permission before using a poem in any form.
WRITE TO TAMARA: westernpoetess@yahoo.com
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