the laughter while night
sledding explodes the drifts then
rolls into the snow
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While talking to a friend of mine today, I acknowledged that my first haiku about a late Sunday night sledding adventure was rather dark. It was a rare instance when a poem I write does not correspond directly to how I am feeling. It was really a bit of an exercise to build on the phrase “suicide hill.”

In truth, I was not that indifferent by the time we got to St. Louis’s “Suicide Hill” (see a daytime picture below courtesy of Sledriding.com and a video here). But any indifference that did remain surely flew away in those joyous explosions of white.

Photo from Sledring.com

Finally, here is my St. Louis sledding haiku from last year:
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On Art Hill, colors
Stipple the snow like sprinkles
On a cupcake top.