Morning yearning

A long cold lonely winter until last week
snowflakes fall and pile up in feet
my morning yearning has come.
Get to the  mountain old man.
 
First time up the lift is with foul mouthed men
it’s amusing to one not easy offended
but I wonder about them, as they don’t seem concerned about my feelings,
maybe it’s the whiskey.
Next a young boy, a local, talks to me like best friends
although I feel a chilly stare from his father
in the air.
Three friends pass a pipe, laughing and slowly exhaling
they kindly offer, making a joke about me not slapping cuffs on them.
Like characters out of a novel
I find my self surrounded by
in the snowy mountains of home.

1 Comment

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?