Poetry by Sarah Davison

A walk to the Chapel

Snow falls on the island,
Forcing eyes closed tight.
Looking down, I blink hard
Snowshoes dragging as I follow.
Ice crystals bead and roll,
Melting hot against wool collars.
I peak down at your heels,
Comparing size to my own.
Your steps, steady and confident
Guide my feet to get lost in.
On a path you know too well,
Past the barn and antique truck,
Through wood and bonfire remains,
Under a memory and into the field,
You lead me, again, to the Chapel.
As it comes into view
Through relentless storm,
I hear the echo of a bell,
Ringing.