The sled was already old when I was young.
I could barely lift it to run the few steps to the crest of the hill.
Flinging it downward, I'd belly flop and hold on tight.
Tears from cold and wind trickled from the corners of my eyes.
My heart hammered with exhilaration and fear.
Would I be able to drag my boots hard enough to stop before the creek?
Through many moves, the sled stayed with me.
Both of us are considered antiques now.
To me the sled is more than wood and steel.
The ghost of my childhood lives in it.
The gift of memory is my good thing today.
Thank you for visiting.