It's Time
IT’S TIME
come with me
take my hand
I promise it won’t hurt a bit
dress up warm
like Mom used to say
mufflers, knitted hats with kittens ears
snow pants and mittens on strings,
‘cause you were always losing them,
scratchy woolen socks, grandma knitted toques
and black rubber galoshes with clicky fasteners
now that we can’t move
roll out the Saturday back door
land in snow,
as white as a Sunday shirt
not a mark
not even squirrel prints under the trees.
we are the first!
you remember? dig deep into your memories
feel the freedom; early morning,
the whole day laid out before
pristine, untouched…ours.
the first snowball… gather it,
pack it, but not too slow
you want it to be the first off on the street.
Quick make more, a pile, then
with the cunning of a great hunter
stalk the kid next door silently
don’t mind the crunch.
just when he is in your sites “fire”
let loose a barrage so great
he’ll never know what hit him.
Do you remember the exhilaration.
the feel of the frosted air
as it swept into your lungs.
the taste of the first snow.
rolling in it, tumbling over the hill
looking like polar cubs
as you troop in for lunch.
hot tomato soup in mugs
soda crackers and a test batch
of Christmas cookies; ginger bread people.
While your snow suits steam quietly
on a rack near the stove
Oh come with me, come with me
take my hand
be a child again
it costs nothing
yet gives you everything.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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