Sledding

We walked that day
through falling snow,
dragging our sleds behind us.
Through cold wind,
into the heat of exertion
and beyond
to the perfect hill-
an abandoned roadbed,
gradual slope,
smooth curve,
half a mile long.

Caution is my mooring-
but not this day.
When we reached the top,
I stepped out front.

With running start, I flew
belly first onto my sled
and down the path.
I turned sharply,
dangerously close
to the forested edge,
then raced along the straightway,
smooth,
leaving my friends,
my thoughts,
my caution behind.

I became a breath
and the sound of my sled
surfacing the snow,
the whisper that drew me.

When the land grew level,
I slowed,
slowed,
then stopped.

A stunning silence held me
a moment longer
before I lay back in the snow,
looking up
into the dizzying flakes.

I closed my eyes,
felt my own breath,
my own heartbeat,
alone in the world.

If I lay long enough,
the flakes of snow would cover me
and I would disappear
into its whiteness.

By Maria Brady-Smith

Photo by Mike Smith