Heartbreak Hill - March 17 2026

 

Heartbreak Hill

March 17 2026

The driveway is 2 ruts

hemmed in by trees

that winds its way, rising and falling

until it delivers us home.

A long way from the road

which is itself rudimentary,

sparsely travelled

and badly paved.

Living at the bottom of a hill

we’re at the mercy of weather;

snow-stayed

in a hard winter

when the gods take delight

in toying with us,

iced-in

when the mercury whipsaws 

between freeze and thaw. 

Then there’s mud in spring and fallen trees,

culverts washed out

in summer storms. 

Which is a good lesson in humility

in this age of connectivity,

when the miraculous seems ho-hum

and we’ve come to expect

that every twitch and whim

will be instantly gratified.

But it’s cozy down here,

stranded on an island

in an ocean of snow.

Not exactly castaways

contending with survival, 

but if self-sufficiency

for just a few days counts

then contentedly on our own.

I stand at the bottom, looking up.

Heartbreak hill

stretches before me

glinting with ice.

Like a moat, a castle wall

a fortified redoubt

it keeps us in and others out.

The helplessness

and absence of choice

are like a weight lifting off,

like letting your breath

empty all the way out.

When my to-do list

can be balled-up and tossed.

When I can let go of agency

and submit to fate.

And when the troubles of the world

are so far away 

they can be left to themselves

for all I care.

  . . . Not that I’m missed

even on a busy day.

It’s like hearing that early morning voice

on the radio declare

that buses are cancelled and school closed.

When you roll over in bed

snug-up the covers

and force your eyes shut.

But find you’re too chuffed

for sleep to come.