I don’t mind walking uphill when it’s cold
like this
even with the headwind
marking my progress
the heart beat pump warms my veins
from within.

I stop in a sunlight spot
and breath so deep.

I grow cold
if I do not move
if I decide to choose
static
too long—
cold if I’m not
moving with purpose.
Lumbering strides
cease shivers
better than the blankets.

 


The reader brings his or her own experience to the poem and creates meaning. Here is my mine, with a bit of a stuffy nose:

 

3 Comments on “Uphill

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