The Color of Snow
For David Karetsky (April 14, 1940-March 12, 1991) , killed in an avalanche
Putting the skis down
in the white snow,
the wind singing,
the blizzard of time
going past your eyes,
it is a little
like being snowed in
in the Connecticut house
on a day when the world
goes away
and only the white dog
follows you out
to make fresh tracks
in the long blue shadow
of the mountain.
We are all halfway there,
preferring not
to think about it.
You went down the mountain
first,
in a blaze of light,
reminding us
to seize our lives,
to live with the wind
whistling in our ears,
and the light bedazzling
the tips of our skis
and the people we love
waiting in the lodge below
scribbling lines
on paper the color
of snow,
knowing there is no
holding on
but only the wind singing
and these lines of light
shining
in the fresh snow.
Putting the skis down
in the white snow,
the wind singing,
the blizzard of time
going past your eyes,
it is a little
like being snowed in
in the Connecticut house
on a day when the world
goes away
and only the white dog
follows you out
to make fresh tracks
in the long blue shadow
of the mountain.
We are all halfway there,
preferring not
to think about it.
You went down the mountain
first,
in a blaze of light,
reminding us
to seize our lives,
to live with the wind
whistling in our ears,
and the light bedazzling
the tips of our skis
and the people we love
waiting in the lodge below
scribbling lines
on paper the color
of snow,
knowing there is no
holding on
but only the wind singing
and these lines of light
shining
in the fresh snow.