A steep fall
in temperature,
October sun cannot reach
the wooded
path, cannot dispel
frost from
fallen leaves.
An opening
appears where
empty rugby pitches
spread
their dew
trapped grass;
scintillating
in sunlight.
Following a
trail of footprints
over the
shining dew
I join the
ghosts of past parents
on frozen
touchline duty,
I hear again the
thud and crunch
of bodies
colliding
see the
curling steam arise
smell
excitement
and sharp disappointment.
Now, children
grown, we share
lives as silent
as empty pitches
stretching
out before us.
I turn to
leave,
choose to
make my own fresh trail
walking into
blinding light
across the
vast expanse
of my
vulnerability, of possibility.
Jacqueline Summer 15.10.12
