Snow Time in the Sierras

Solitude

Snow flakes sieve down from leaden sky,fall on his parka sleeve, each flake unique.He stops. Watches the flakes land, then melt instantly—ice art turned to water.

He listens to his heart pump, blood rushing to his ears, then he resumes skiing. His poles dig deep into the soft snow leaving blue tunnels behind.

He spots a squirrel scurrying to a cache of pine nuts; sees a few animal tracks, but no other living creature.

He passes fir trees wearing shrouds of snow

on their boughs, each branch bowed down, grieving.

He stops to listen again— a slight rustle of flakes falling on his jacket

and the pumping heart, every molecule in his

body at peace with heart’s rhythm.

Ice-blue solitude soothes; erases his work-a-day world.

Flakes drift down as he resumes his journey out of self.

2/2010

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