Winter Brush

September 26, 2008
Soft snow falling lightly from the sky.
Hard ground covered with nature’s white powder.
Covered head to toe with warm clothing.
Ready to go flying downward on my pink sled.
Excitement filling me; surrounding me.

Place my little pink sled on the ground and get on.
Holding on to the rope to guild my way,
But the sled won’t go where I want it to go
Like a wild horse refusing to be broken.

Pushed off, going down the hill at what feels like top speed.
Suddenly the pink sled turns to where I face uphill.
Mom yells, but the wind catches her words.
Then the world turns upside down.

Blood starts to rush to my head; panic starts to build.
Hearing my pleas for help, Mom slides down on our redneck cardboard sled.
Laughing at me, she gets me free from the brush I had landed in upside down.
Frustration overrides excitement, but I know I will laugh at this,
And nine years later I still am.

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