Walking on a back road
From school
No sign of the sun
Leaden clouds overhead
Fields frozen by deep snow.
A northerly wind from Montreal
A long slog home.
Grey slush underfoot
Cold wet seeping
Through soles
Another mile to Grandmother’s house.
Where waits
The warmth of a pot belly stove
Pull off boots
Peel off soxes
Stick frozen toes
Under the heat
Aaah
A cup of tea
With milk and sugar
Aaah
No more the cold
Grandmother’s house
Maine winter
Only another half-mile
To go
Till
Grandmother’s house
And Winter
Another four months away
Till
Not winter.
Till then
Counting the days.
To April
Flowers
And no snow.
I spent my early childhood in Maine, sledding the winters on Blackstrap Hill. There were really winters then, still are in Fort Kent.
Painting by Winslow Homer
A New Englander
