A poem-in-progress kindly shared with us by Marnie Cobbs, hot off the "poetry press" and speaking to this day:
Laying Ski Tracks
I go out through the far field plodding up the white rise, tuck into trees to the small pass with the split-rock; gray guardian. I drop down, pick through saplings ducking whips to the cheek, except for one hard sting.
All down the old road I leave my trail, my narrow passing through. Breadcrumbs, so others may travel, too, the wilder places. Up the steep hack overlooking our lake, so often hidden, the late light dousing everything.
Past the outcrop at height of land the boys-camp trail runs weakly, faintly blazed, unhelpfully, with white. An older trail followed a wiser route, but has long been left alone.
I nudge forward, then back, faithful to the thin signs. Ardent, attentive, I lay tracks to trace the trail. Today it snows and snows and snows, sweet, erasing everything.
Marnie Cobbs 1.19.11