A long cold lonely winter until last week
snowflakes fall and pile up in feet
my morning yearning has come.
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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 myself surrounded
in the snowy mountains of home.

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