Our Loss Forged A Mountain

I remember the clock,

ticking,

tocking,

forward.

I remember waiting impatiently for the rushing bell to chime through the hallways. Watching, as the hand stretched out for the anticipated time, yet still jumping at the abrupt sound of recess. Chairs scurrying before feet across laminate floors, a flurry of voices burst into the halls as doors clamored open.

I remember I waited and my heart raced as you fumbled gracefully into your boots, zipped up your coat with determined focus, then quickly shoved your hat onto your head. Happiness took over when you grabbed me and we raced out together, following the flow of that elementary stampede.

I remember we pressed through, into the wall of winter wind, darting onto the soccer field turned frozen fortress. Construction commenced, we packed sticky snow, building the walls of our proud creation. I helped you smooth out the surface of our structure and I admired your attention, crafting collaboratively with your thoughtful hands.

I remember the echoing bell across the fields, like a train whistle at the last station. The sound of dragging boots clunking across cold covered pavement, we were called inside. My heart sank as you threw me carelessly into your jacket hood, clumped in a soggy heap with the others. I still loved you.

I remember the dead winter night, looking up through frosted windows, eyelashes powdered with snowflakes that fluttered down like swan feathers, streetlights across a black sky. Angel in a snow bank, I wondered what you were thinking. I warmed your right hand.

I remember warm hot chocolate and the scent of greasy dough. Hitting ice like foggy glass, sticking quickly as I helped you push yourself up. I remember skating in circles, not knowing how to stop, until you lost momentum. The sharp sound of swirling bodies across the rink, spinning and spinning and spinning.

I remember wind whipping by, the smell of pine and cedar, smoke from an open fire. Racing to the top and back down, each time felt faster. Out of breath with frozen feet. Warm lodge air hitting frozen cheeks, static hair, unpeeling layers, slurping heat from a thermos.

I remember the field of ice, stretching across, connecting the bay. I remember your patience, as you watched the line dive deep into darkness. Waiting and waiting, yet you never seemed to mind. Your eyes fixed upon the jig, as the sounds of snowmobiles droned around.

I remember a weathered park bench, loudly swishing snowpants, watching you walk away. Waiting patiently, you never noticed. I felt hollow, like aged city trees. The sounds of slush soaked sidewalks and darkness. Disregarding eyes, stepped over and sometimes on, a lone mitten lacking value.

I remember being tossed in with the others, carried and cleaned. I remember being stitched together, empty hands to hold. Our loss forged a mountain, a clumped soggy heap of hope. Now, the passing faces blur together, I always wonder if you’re on the other side. I look for you, sitting in this park. Not art, but a lost mitten, who still loves you, who can still hear the clock,

ticking,

tocking,

forward.

Inspired by: http://cbc.ca/news/canada/ottawa/story/2012/02/06/ott-lost-mitten-art.html

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One Response to Our Loss Forged A Mountain

  1. sabreena90 says:

    Shot gun this one!

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