Wintah Maine

Walking on a back road
From school
No sign of the sun
Leaden clouds overhead
Fields frozen by deep snow.
A northerly wind from Montreal
A long slog home.

Grey slush underfoot
Cold wet seeping
Through soles
Another mile to Grandmother’s house.

Where waits
The warmth of a pot belly stove
Pull off boots
Peel off soxes
Stick frozen toes
Under the heat


A cup of tea
With milk and sugar


No more the cold
Grandmother’s house
Maine winter
Only another half-mile
To go
Grandmother’s house
And Winter
Another four months away
Not winter.
Till then
Counting the days.
To April
And no snow.

I spent my early childhood in Maine, sledding the winters on Blackstrap Hill. There were really winters then, still are in Fort Kent.

Painting by Winslow Homer

A New Englander

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