Before the Storm

By Jory Squibb | Feb 13, 2013

I must go down to the ice again

to the sun, and the blue, blue sky

where a runner, a skate, or a cleated boot

is the key to a door flung wide


where the troubles of land are left on land:

the job, and the list of chores

and the only challenge that’s left to face

is to move toward distant shores


the bay was a patchwork of ice and snow

when I got to the lake at one

and the snow was bonded so well to the ice,

that the prospect was poor for fun.


so I ditched the skates, and I ditched the sail

and walking would be my game

and when I got to the vast South Broads

my world was not the same:


the wind blew streamers of snow across

grey ice like polished stone

and I lay on my back with the wind behind

and my face like a sun-warmed bone


I’d clear my decks! I’d sail this day!

shout Fie! to tomorrow’s blow

and the jobs of today would taste better

when spiced with tomorrow's snow


But a friend was battling cancer

a fight too well I knew

and sure enough I had promised

to help with the kitchen crew.


So I made this day a special day

when I could have sailed, but no:

I helped a friend skating one-inch ice

when for now, I'd a foot below


This ice is lovely, shiny, deep

but I my promises will keep

and pray that when, we’ve ice again

that skill and strength will still remain.

Comments (1)
Posted by: TERRI S MACKENZIE | Feb 14, 2013 22:22

Wowser. Thanks.

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