Claudette Castonguay |
Sledding in Wichita
As cars pass, laboring through the slush,
a boy, bundled against the stiff wind
in his snow suit, gloves, and scarf,
leans on his upright toboggan,
waiting his turn atop
the snow-packed overpass—
the highest point in town.
First one car exits, and then another,
each creeping down the icy ramp.
The brown grass pokes through
the two grooves carved in the short hill.
As the second car fishtails to a stop at the bottom,
brake lights glowing on the dirty snow,
the boy’s turn comes.
His trip to the bottom is swift—
only a second or two—
and he bails out just before the curb.
It’s not much, but it’s sledding in Wichita.
Casey Pycior
The unusually beneficent state of Snow we have been living in has brought back memories of hill-hunting and the joy of even the very briefest speed-gathering velocities of sledding in urban settings where every bump and lump of landscape becomes a possibility for fun and danger - especially in an otherwise flat environment.
It's not much, but it's also everything.
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