The short man on crutches with a flaring
Silver beard clambered on to the large,
Net-guarded outdoor trampoline with his
Emphatic, eight-year old daughter. It was
Cold, at least crisp, even in the sun. Old
Filigrees of snow shadowed the corners
Of the yard and the great, red cliffs were
Mostly white above it all. The daughter
Jumped and danced and landed, crash,
Beside or half on top of her father, who laughed
With the delight of crisp air and foolishness,
Of the smell of melting snow and sunlight,
Without ever forgetting for one moment how
Something could break and go wrong. When
It didn’t, that accomplishment alone was even
More satisfying than the hour of robust play
In the open air. Drive home understanding
Victory is the comfort when grief is avoided.
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