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View Near Elizabethtown, N.J., 1847, by Régis François Gignoux
Fade to Dusk
by Priscilla Turner Spada
A brushed-gold, pastel glow
reflects off ice and snow.
The hour is getting late,
sun sinking as we skate.
Mother, to teach us how,
would snap a wayward bough,
and with us holding on,
tug us around the pond.
Now up the river we race,
companions on the chase.
We glide with youthful ease
near the snow-sheathed trees.
Daylight fades to dusk;
our voices become hushed.
Are there turtles down below,
beneath the frozen flow?
We try and navigate
one last figure-eight,
zigzagging to the shore–
back to earth once more–
to Father, who watches, waits,
to help unlace our skates.
We'd twirl right up til midnight
if we could hold the light.
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