Night-sledding in Boscobel

Tony Sig

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fluffed snow falls continuous and light;
A subtle background to the purple night–
A quiet bidding for the towny kids
To grab their sleds and climb to the top of the hill,
Not rowdy fun or boisterous play, but still.
Night-sledding’s like a solemn evensong:
The snow gives call, we all respond. Along
The frozen ladder angelic intellects
Descend to join the chorus. (After all,
Delight’s the deepest life of the great and the small)
Across the cemetery, above the pines,
Before the football field and covered diamonds,
(Where children carry on their little games)
We, all assembled in our various array,
Process as Winter’s acolytes at play.
The first one down the virgin slope suggests
A path that one may take or not. The best
Line will be found out as each to each cascade.
Not that there’s just a single best to take;
Tonight there’s endless trails yet to make,
And there’s also endless time to make them.
The sun is down, what does it matter eight or ten
Or later? We’re here until the cantor sounds
The ending: Let us bless the Lord, thanks be
To God. We pack up sled and reverently
Return to our warm homes. The walk’s a slow
Going as nothing’s been yet cleared of snow.
But hope of cocoa makes it passable–
The kind with marshmallows you mix in hot
Water or milk– a sweet liquor hard bought.

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