Last week I told my son I would take him

Into the woods

And camp

In the winter

To feel the old man's breath.

 

But a blizzard came

And by Friday night

The wind had shoveled the blowing snow

Into deepening drifts

To keep us close to home.

 

Years before,

I had ventured into winter wilderness on a quest

With eleven other men to find fear

And found strength and my measure as well

And one night, in that time,

With eight feet of snow beneath me

And minus 300 F around me

I slept with a friend

In a snow cave.

 

So I piled snow high in our yard

And carved out of that snow a cave

A shelter just large enough

For a boy and a man.

 

After dinner we went into the yard

Crawled on our hands and knees into the cave

Took off our boots, wriggled into the sleeping bags

And laid our heads on our coat pillows.

 

I looked up at the crystalline ceiling

About twelve inches from our faces

It reflected the glow of a candle lantern

Burning in a hollowed-out pocket in the cave's wall

Outside it was single digits with the wind blowing

Inside our cave was washed with light

And we were side my side with little room to spare.

 

I never realized how many questions this boy could ask

What did you want to be when you were eight?

Who was your best friend?

And then we talked about ourselves and our fathers.

 

I told him some about the pain between me and my dad

About broken math lessons

My crying, frustration, and anger

The walking out, the doors slamming

His disappointment in me and my fury at him.

 

No one ever talked about these fights

They were phantom experiences

And time did its best to be the healer

In my parents' home.

 

Quietly, he told me about me

How I had humiliated him

How it made him cry

We talked side by side

In the cave

The candle lantern glowing brightly.

 

During that time our bushy long-haired cat,

Laurel, strolled into the cave

He had come outdoors and now looked for night-time shelter

We had started in surprise at his silent entrance

and he had darted out

In a few moments he cautiously reentered

And walked upon my chest to to receive welcoming strokes from us

His puyrr in that cave was like a lion's roar

Then he settled down next to my son and went to sleep

On the snowy floor.

 

After answering and asking more questions

Ted asked me to help him move himself up

So that his head would be next to mine

That we could sleep even closer to each other

I reached over and carefully tugged him and his bag north

We kissed each other good night and closed our eyes.

 

In a few minutes I could hear the smooth sound of his gentle breathing

The candle still burned and I looked at him in the white of the cave

My eyes closed next and I was glad to be alive in that place and time.

 

In the morning, I looked up through the vent hole above my head

The sky was bright blue and clear

Ted slept soundly

And I looked at him.

After a while, he stirred and looked at me.

"Let's go in," I said.

"What do you think?"

"Sure!"

 

We crawled out.

Our boots were dry but frozen and hard to get on.

Oops, well below zero.

We shivered and stomped our feet into them

And then walked through the snow drifts into our house

With Laurel bounding from foot print to foot print

To make it inside before the door closed.

 

Years before,

I had ventured

With eleven men to find fear

This time with but one other I slept in a snow cave

To find love.

 

3/28/93