The ladder is scarier with ice now that I had pushed away the snow. The gutters with the weight of the ladder are prone to give way I imagine, if in leaning over them I smash them- before they fall down bending just before the section holds then slows to an uncertain precipice above the ground, as I hunch forward, shaking now…and it is moments later-
I growl at my self, at the inflated egocentric prided gauging of pain I claim as the trophy of my heightened placement- I am no higher, my heart beats along faster; I am nearly freezing, bending shingles, broken ego, the pulsating heat of my limbs against the breath of cold air, but I wavered not my shovel. I am clearing my head. I will move it with the rhythm of my tactful motion, flinging, forcing, freezing frost and drifts of rain that frozen in clouds came to rest upon the the roof of this house that I will save from totally collapsing.
Finding I am growing older
Onto the ocean
Where only hills and trees arise
To remind me that they too give-
Thanks to what I prize.
Grown again to stop the balking wind
See I so as looking down
Juniper, Lariope and Holly
Abound like warm winter footsteps
hopeful beginnings heal
Getting cold I stray task
stow my shovel,
having traded in my flask,
for a warm mug of apple cider inside my house.