Scars on home hill with a full scoop

Some scars point to character

I know I cherish mine.

The crease on my noggin

Plowed by a rock on the hill,

Cut furrows like a tine.

Still present after the years

And inscribed in my head

Written in the memory

Forever imprint

Cut deeper ‘til dead.

On a snow-covered slope,

Eight inches new snow

Scoop shovel sled

Three boys,

one riding, two tow

Fly down the rocky slope

At the launch, the tow stops

Careful near the bitter end

Watch out, dudes!

At the bottom, sharp rocks.

The jagged stones loom large

Unyielding, not forgiving

No swerve, reroute or stop

Crash landing sandstone

I’m lucky to be living

But on a cold day when flakes fall

I think of the home hill,

The rip 'cross my skull

The life had its dangers

There’s blood in the snow,

But times in the scoop shovel — full.
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By Rob Carrigan, robcarrigan1@gmail.com