They met on a Sunday, the skaters
twenty-two of them, each
essential to the team, a kind
of human chain outlining
a mighty figure eight in
the flooded frozen field.

Come and peek through nearby boughs
to watch the twenty-two as they
slide and glide on knife-edged skates,
cutting the ice, making crystals fly.

Distant mountains shield their green
in a veil of new-fallen snow, all a
silent wonderland, a sight
to make your heart stand still.
Watch the mist of your breath
appear and know that you are here.
This was written in response to Miz Quickly’s “Anything Monday” prompt for January 11. I believe I used eight of ten words from the list and gave myself a bonus for incorporating just a touch of Da Doo Ron Ron.


2 thoughts on “22

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