Posts Tagged ‘challenge’

That Time

It was like driving through a winter storm
   for years, day after week after month
     after night after morning of white-knuckled,
   stiff-shouldered worry. No tracks to follow,
no sign of a centerline, no rails on the edge,
   and where are the snowplows, and what
     good is a map when you can’t read the signs?
       There were whole months of white out, driving snow-blind
    and slow, whole seasons of running the wipers on high
   in an attempt to see just one inch further.
       It was icy roads, skidding with the baby in back.
         It was wishing I could ask someone else
       to take the wheel. It was frozen-slick and slippery
     with no studded snows. It was sliding with no brakes.
   It was what I woke to everyday
and what I dreamed at night.
   If there was beauty, I was too afraid to see it.
I wish I could tell you I was brave.
   It was slow to change,
     like a spring that arrives only to leave again.
       One day the drifts were gone and the roads
         were dry and the sky was wide blue and clear.
           But it wasn’t like snow, was it?
         Some things don’t just melt away.
       Some storms transform the landscape forever.
     Some storms transform the driver.

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            for Donna

Today, for an hour,

I let the only news be

my body, my friend,

and the road we walked on.

Our footsteps kept time

to our chatter. We

spoke of family and fear,

health and uncertainty,

friendship and transformation.

We smiled and worried

and reveled in the day.

The hills were steep,

and we liked it that way.

Later I try to remember this—

how sometimes I choose

a challenging path on purpose.

How all the while

we huffed up the hill,

we were surrounded

by bird song, by laughter.

How speaking of difficult things

makes them less frightening.

How the road was a pleasure

when we walked it together.

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And let there be rain,

though the path is easier

when dry, and let there be

a bend in the road.

Let us think we know

where we are going—

and let us be wrong.

There are wings in us

we’ve forgotten.

Let us walk until

we remember them.

And then, let us walk

for the joy of walking.

Because puddles.

Because the path.

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