in snow dusted hills
among rattling branches
bare against winds off the lake
the west- a roar of waves
we blow cupped hands
warm our fingers
- - -
beneath hemlocks I tell the boys
this is shelter in a blizzard
I point out hoof prints of a startled deer
we follow them backwards
lay our fingers in white pressed coolness
smooth twin teardrops
maybe she's watching us
she too knows the utility of hemlock's shade
- - -
cresting a ridge
we spot the furrow below
that's our trail
it takes us to a place I know well
boyhood's rusted nails
buried in a swell of bark
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