Blizzard

I remember that warm August evening, 

Buying that paint-splattered backpack 

From Target, 

Just before embarking on 

The unfamiliar territory of third grade. 

Residing amidst the novel hum

Of the Cherokee River, 

Its crashing waves now a foreign voyager 

On those long family hikes. 

Its winding currents  

Eroding into the soft tissue

Of my young mind.

Yet April’s burden eclipses nostalgia.

My eyes have lost the film of the journey,

And now I’m sitting in my dorm, 

Awaiting a wine tour that 

Eats at my heart and seizes my lungs, 

As its arrival tiptoes over my nerves 

In its three-month imminence. 

For I’ve just now hit basecamp, 

And the route ahead 

Is plagued with snow 

And I’m caught 

In its blizzard.