running with my son

running with my son, Timothy
Oil Creek Park, winter 1995

snow drifted over our knees.
the trail steepened
up and down

through groves
of basswood and beech,
hemlock and maple.

tears froze
in the corners of my eyes.
despite the cold,
I was soaked with sweat
five miles out.

one hard hill later,
we were returning.

at the car
we stripped off shirts.
steam rose from shoulders.

under slate skies
we dried ourselves
with towels holy as scripture.