Watching the weather
checking the gear
loading the car
for the ski trip
nothing to fear
Down in the shop
on the bench
the tools all laid out
the smell of anticipation
hanging ripe in the air
The old iron heating
the wax, the glister all ready
they blade filed,
put in its place
His motions practiced
a dance down the skis
preparing them
based on conditions
we would see in the morning
gliding with ease
February 1, 2010
my father getting our family’s skis
before a day of skiing,
whether at home or a chalet
Monday, February 01, 2010
The Smell of Anticipation
Labels:
air,
father,
memories,
Nature,
Poetry Where You Live,
Raymond A. Foss,
senses,
skiing,
smell,
wax
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