Crush

We hike around the lake and observe 

the thin layer of ice forming (or melting?)

on the water's surface.

The overflow roars beneath us as we

cross a weathered wooden bridge.

We reach the turning point and groan

because we are destined to walk through thick mud and puddles that will swallow our

feet just above the ankles.

How unpleasant, but it's winter 

and the trail will not always satisfy.

We laugh as we tiptoe along thin ice

because we know a child's light step

would break it, too. 

The cracks echo around us

and we let the boots holding our frigid feet 

crush the icy pieces;

We continue on until we are satisfied.