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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Many of us have a favorite possession from when we were young, and this 93-year old gentleman is no exception. The wind was whisking briskly through the January night, as I lay quietly sleeping on my feather mattress bed. My dreams were filled with azure skies and balmy summer breezes, as scenes of ivory-tinted beaches swirled inside my head. Twice, at least, I woke to hear the storm at work outside…laboring in the darkness to submerge my world in white. Our tiny North Dakota farm knew well what storms could do, especially those that showed up close to dusk…then stayed the night. This was no exception, and the hard, relentless blizzard left its cold deposit while the land was fast asleep. The early morning light of dawn unveiled a quilt of snow that ranged in places…here and there…from 3 to 4 feet deep! I am just a poet, so I had no place to be, but still I sensed a desperation lurking deep inside. I’d seen at least a dozen documentaries where storms had actually almost buried people… some had even died! But as I peered across the rolling void of wafting flakes, and watched the blinding drifts of crystal sparkling as they did, I was overcome with joy when - bursting through my mind - a wave of mem’ries washing in from when I was a kid Carried me away to when my days were filled with fun by hours and hours of sledding down the sloping piles of snow. And as I stood there, staring at the waves that rose and fell, I felt the urge to don my winter garb, and say hello. Bundled up in overcoat and pilot’s cap and scarf, and with my finest insulated knee-highs on my feet, I blazed a virgin pathway from the backdoor of my house down what seemed a foreign, yet familiar, curb-less street. A wavy, intermittent row of fence-post-tops remained to indicate…like polka dots…the boundaries of my lawn. The well pump handle, fully raised, appeared a rusty finger pointing at a sky from whence the culprit clouds were gone. Simply irresistible, I took the freshest breath of frigid air I’ve ever known, then headed toward the shed. I knew that in that ten-by-ten, dilapidated shack, for more than eighty lonely years, there’d hung a weathered sled. Kicking through the depth of snow that buried half the entry, I slowly carved a pie-shaped void to gain my way inside. And once I’d lit the lantern, I would spot it hanging there, in what had been…for all that time…a perfect place to hide. Just across the way…and so completely just the same as I had left it resting there so many years ago… Staring back at me, I saw my “Flexible Flyer” sled! With runners worn from endless rides down hills of drifted snow - It momentarily hypnotized me…left me in a trance! I felt the warmth of happy tears that crept into my eyes, And wondered, as I crossed the floor, if it was fair to hope that I might be a long lost friend that it would recognize. Pausing for a moment more, to watch it...undisturbed, I reached to touch the fading stencil…faint, but clearly there, And as my eyes caressed the rusty frame and tattered rope, I once again would clearly feel the love we used to share. From deep within, a tiny voice I seldom hear these days, whispered softly, “Hey, old buddy…thanks for droppin’ in. It’s really great to see you, and you’re really looking good. I think of you on snowy days, and…every now and then… “Through that frosty window - on the backside of the shed - when little groups of children wander close enough to see… I can once again relive those happy winter days when you would come and take me down and - ride the hills with me.” Hearts have always had a way of gleaning little comments from almost out of nowhere (and that no one else can hear), And I was truly moved to feel those sad, yet tender words - to learn my old companion - through that window at the rear - Could only hang and watch the children sledding just outside. It actually hurt to think about the way it must have felt To cope with how it used to be - between the snow’s arrival - and when a warmer day passed through, and most of it would melt. There we were…a winter day…and totally surrounded by drifts so firm and sculptured, they were begging for a sled, And I could actually feel the most ridiculous temptation stealing in to pose its crazy challenge in my head, To rob me of my senses, and convince me it was time to lift my little friend-of-long-ago from off the hook, Then course the slopes together…as we did when we were young…and disregard concerns for how the two of us would look. I was ninety-three years old…the sled was older still…but as we joined the group of children sledding there that day, Like a pair of long lost friends - that now were reunited - the two of us, again, were like two little kids - at play. BTW: I plan to post many of my AUDIO files on the soup over the next few months, most from my 4 new AUDIO-CDs, along with many more text files from my books of verse. (Only a few CDs and books left -- 1-11-21). Because, as with most academically undisciplined poets, depending entirely on the mood I’m in at writing time, my pieces vary greatly from meaninglessly comical to meaningfully poignant, and a few are, admittedly, irreverent. If you happen to enjoy “traditional verse” - and appreciate great variety, check out my website’s at: WWW,WRITEROFBOOKS.COM --- or Google me...after 58 years of penning verse and authoring childrens and suspense books, I’m easy to reach! I've also got a bunch of my verse posted on Youtube, and a few samples listed on Ebay, both findable by simply searching: "Mark Stellinga". Cheers, Mark
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