Frozen Lake

It has

taken me a while

to sit in a dark corner,

rest in my chair

and think about the scene

on the lake:

children following

chilled ear-muffed parents,

falling into black puddles

my eyes sore

from their grimaces

and yet, all too soon,

they come back up again.

 

I was never too trusting

of my skates;

faces tell me their parents

are notĀ either.

 

I suppose

falling and rising

are the stepping stones of a generation,

frostbite, bumps and bruises

making our own easier to handle,

each crack in the ice

new wisdom,

a sudden truth

that all we need to know

is not the mirage,

sprawled green grass glowing in the distance.

 

It is the frozen

here and now.

 

July 23, 2015

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