Winter 1946 Crystal Pierce
After painting by Andrew Wyeth A boy, arms flung wide in abandon, Runs with his shadow along ruts in a field After these crest the hill. I knew that field, Or one akin to it, where you race, not away, But to an unknown destination. You woke early, dressed for the weather As your mother told you, and ventured Out to the barn for chores. Breakfast is waiting, You know, yet the field draws you to tramp Along the fence line out and away. Aroused to all the possibilities Beyond the crest of childhood, you learn What lies behind the crest is unchangeable. You run through a bare field with patches of snow, A midwinter thaw, toward spring.
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