The Glacier Walk

The Glacier Walk
There, in the green gaping valley, cow bells
like harbingers – music of the past still clinging
like frost under a new sun, we walk with my
husband’s godfather up the marked Swiss trail.
Our two year old blinks from her backpack,
eyes and ears finding white flowers, the sudden
rush of valley stream – those bells.
The white skeleton of a glacier spreads before us,
fractured and split at the edges, a thick white core.
“We walked here with you as a boy,” he tells my
husband. “Only this here.” He motions to the lush
expanse. “All ice. Here where we’re walking now.”
My husband pauses. His eyes search the green
under our feet, our child’s face beneath her hat, the swath
of dirt, the bright, frightened yellow of the flowers
at the bend in the trail.

—Kim Culbertson, copyright 2008

The Glacier Walk

kimculbertson

Joined January 2008

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