Weathered Soul

Once there lived a child,

Eight years old

And she walked to school everyday.

She’s walked in rain that warrants rain boots,

But she wears sneakers anyway

Because she needs them for gym class

And she’s used to the squishing of soaked socks.

She’s walked in rain that was more wind than rain,

The type that turns her umbrella inside out,

And she struggles like she’s flying a kite

She wishes instead that the umbrella would pull her up like

Mary Poppins. And then she could fly to school,

But it never works out that way.

She’s walked in rain that’s barely rain,

It spits from the skies above like restraining tears

No umbrella needed for this rain,

Maybe not even a jacket with a hood.

But it still makes her feel cold inside

And it leaves little droplets in her hair

That almost glitter.

She’s walked in twelve-inch snow,

Taller than her snow boots.

Untouched and smooth, the moment before

Her neighbors wake up to shovel.

This snow soaks her socks even with the proper footwear

But that’s okay

Because it’s the prettiest type of snow,

Coating the world in uninterrupted, pure white.

She’s walked in below freezing temperatures,

The kind that makes her wish she piled on another coat

On top of her other two.

The kind of cold that forces her to tie a scarf around her mouth,

Even though it grosses her out.

But it’s the only way to protect her throat from

The scratchy feeling of breathing in the cold.

She’s walked in March,

When the weather can’t make up its mind

And the flowers start to bloom

As the ground thaws from winter,

And then the next day, snow falls all over again.

And it feels like winter will last forever.

She’s walked in her favorite type of weather,

The small window in spring,

That sometimes only lasts a week.

When it finally gets up to sixty degrees

For the first time since fall

But it’s better than fall, because

The sun makes her feel warm after winter

Not sweltering like summer heat

But wrap-you-in-its-embrace-and-never-let-go warmth

That just can’t be replicated by layers of clothing.

She’s walked in creepy wind.

The type that swirls the leaves around her

Like phantoms drawing shapes on the ground.

The kind of eeriness that settles in the air

That makes her wish the sun would come out

Or that the clouds wouldn’t be such an angry purple.

She’s walked in suffocating heat,

The kind that makes her stop in the middle of the road

Because if she keeps her jacket on for one more second

She feels like she’ll combust into fire

And set the whole forest aflame.

Once there lived a child,

Sixteen years old,

And she walked to school everyday.

Her shoes were worn, but her eyes had seen it all.

And she knew that as the seasons passed,

Her heart would remain full.

Artwork: "The Walk Home" by Fran Kenney