With each passing year my tolerance
diminishes for winter and its trials.
It all begins when we have to move
our outdoor morning walk inside a mall
to the security of an ice-free foothold.
We never worried about falling
when we had four little ones tumbling
hither and yon; it was part of growing up,
we said, falls are inevitable — and so they are.
But now our lethargic limbs are far less supple,
our feet less steady, so winter’s sidewalks
metamorphose from the steadfastness
of cement to mean-spirited ice.
So we content ourselves, walking
among like-minded seniors who seek
the foot sureness malls afford,
greeting familiar faces every morning,
as we log our fluorescent miles beneath
the watchful eye of security cameras,
there to catch us should we fall.
© by Glen Sorestad.
Used with the author’s permission.