Our forest mountain home formed a retreat
from winter, a season ever at our door.
We'd played in bitter cold, then sought the heat.
The welcome wood stove warmth would soon restore
the circulation to our icy hands
and toes. When warm, we dashed again to snow.
If powdery, a deer hide met demands
for speed. In powder, sleds sunk in, too slow.
I liked spring's crusty corn snow best. It spun
my sled pell mell down draws. I'd catch a breath
before beginning that mile-long fast run,
and never think of accidents or death.
At seventy, though energy subsides,
I keep a sharp recall of speedy rides.
In Utah, where my children grew to men,
they grumbled at the snow, despised the cold
until they learned to ski. They knew by then
this sport required stamina. They bold-
ly donned two pairs of jeans and hit the slopes,
asked me to follow where they led, and I,
a novice, tried. I thought, This mother copes.
I skied runs that today I'd never try!
I'd follow all three daring sons downhill,
and slice each curve, bank turns, take jumps quite well.
I've had my times at rolling down, but still,
most ski slopes caught me easy when I fell.
Some resorts let the seniors ski for free.
Perhaps I ought to call my sons, go ski.
Salt Lake City, Utah
AT THIS TIME
|THEDA BASSETT, 76, Salt Lake City, is a professional Field Enumerator for National Association Department of Agriculture Statistics and full-time poet-at-heart. She has a Golden Circle family: three sons, one daughter, sixteen grandchildren and three great grandchildren. Her sun sign is Capricorn.