A Wintered Solace

Made our mid-winter pilgrimage
alone for the first time in eight years,
following that icy creek caught
in the season’s bitter grip
in that hollow of soul and mem’ry.
 
Your son had tried to join me
--the cold caused the latch to stick--
as he burst through the gate
to stand proudly by my side
as you had once, throughout the years.
(Blaze looks so much like you.)
Slowly returned him to his kennel,
an understanding reflected in his eyes
upon hearing a simple reason:
Some paths we must walk alone.

---

Never had the trek been so treacherous,
negotiating that glacial creek,
bent on one purpose: reach the falls.
The desire to return? Not so much.
Partway, my walking stick snapped
made brittle in the frosted air.
Left half that oaken staff behind.
Perhaps coincidence to some.
More symbolism to others, knowing
that it was Painted Post, after all.
 
Finally reached those frozen falls,
now an odd, gray-translucent mix.
There, in that frigid, biting air
in that cold, indifferent ice,
caught the mem’ry of a small pup,
who’d become an exceptional hound.
And in that bright, wintered sunlight,  
an epiphany; the magic
in this ancient forest could be
found by looking heavenward.
 
Made our mid-winter journey
in a hollow with two meanings
in the angry cold, following
that frozen stream to realize
that I’d never been alone, all along.

---

Seth with me a few years ago.