Outside, the skis and poles stand
by the door, tall skinny skis
propped up, ready at the trailhead
of my home, a quick escape;
the snowshoes, too, slipped on,
easily fastened, for the deep stuff,
knee deep, off through the woods,
a self-made trail blazed, away;
a snow shovel - or two - waits
as well, for snowfall, snow to move about,
transfer, with an expectation of old age’s
aches and pains of winter snow removed;
the sand bucket, next, weighted down, lidded,
rests there, its handle down, sand to melt
the ice just to freeze again, a little grip
for my slippery walkway, my slippery life;
and the snow blower, powerful, “for the big one,”
when the shovel isn’t enough, nor is my aging back,
this job a must do before the skis and snowshoes,
but an excuse still to be out in the snow on a
winter day:
winter readiness, all lined up … Check!
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