the great hill

on the great hill
we would sled
in january
with socks on our
hands for mittens.
our shoes soaked
through and red
with numbness.
and despite the
wind and cold no
one wanted to go
in. i still remember
the streetlights
going on, as the
sun disappeared
into the bleak sky.
and everything
dark seemed
permanent, and
everything good,
like the snow
seemed short
and soon to melt.