Sleigh Ride
by Michael Escoubas

We dress
in our warmest winter coats
hitch the Clydesdale
to the red sleigh
rub soft wax on the rails
determined to be the first
to mark last night’s
virgin snow piled high.
The world curls
beneath a quilt of white–
slopes and barren trees
take on the character
of a chiaroscuro work of art.

You smile wide
as I help you into the sleigh
all scarfed and muffed
scent of sandalwood soap
lingers from last night–
with a snap of the reins
clop, clop of hooves
we’re off
down the lane
subsumed
by the chill of air
as your warm body
in one cherished moment
blends into mine.



 

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