Winter Boots

 

. . . time to pull them out of the closet, the saddle soap and neatsfoot oil

 

 

 

Where the spring rises it never freezes,

And farther on was well out of my way.

A thumb-width an inch, and I cut slashes

In a stick to measure how deep the water

Where it plunged and pooled. rearranging

Right-sized stones to step off a shortcut

Across the stream.  Youth had all the time

In the world then to go but never enough

To appreciate the going.

                                                And now I walk

Without any measuring where these years

Take me, and in the morning pull on warm

Worn boots that dried all night by the fire,

Walk wherever the stream goes, deep into

Memories of a mare, the cold creak of tack,

The smell of old leather and hickory smoke.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 870 times
Written on 2013-10-03 at 22:10

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Nils Teodor The PoetBay support member heart!
It was a joy to read your words
there is a simple beauty in this text
that touch my heart
Thanks for sharing
N T
2013-10-05


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Your pictures are mesmerizing my friend! I'll spend long and grateful moments reflecting on the images you produce here. Thank you for sharing that wonderful gift!
Joe
2013-10-04



You know, these kinds of connections and memories are becoming more and more rare. I think of all springs rocked up, and now falling in on themselves. I'm not being nostalgic, it's the way it is, but something is being lost. We have a spring, that was a "spring house" for storing milk and meat and whatever else needed cooling. On the sandstone foundation was carved: P. Weidman 1908, and on another nearby by rock were two sets of initials surrounded by a heart. The later is completely gone, and the "P. Weidman" is almost gone. I cannot imagine anyone will ever carve their name in sandstone and this place again.

Your poem, as always, brings thoughts to mind, and is appreciated.

Also, getting out the saddle soap and neatsfoot oil is yet one more disappearing art, as synthetic fabrics replace leather in boots and shoes. You know what else is being lost: quietly written, thoughtful, insightful, gentle poems with a point.
2013-10-04



Every indentation, every beat, every word seems right. Good job as always, Fog.
2013-10-03


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Excellent, Fog, well written with wonderful imagery. I'm going to leave it at that.
2013-10-03