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Excerpt
from 'A Walk'
Young
snow bent
tamaracks
lace the air
above the path
The slim supple branches
seem naked now
without
their silk soft needles
of summer.
The ground puddles
snow skimmed shell ice
with bubble patterns
crunch
and pop as we walk.
Down hill
the large spruce shadow shapes
sit in silence
split
by the raven’s rolling
croaking
throat
song |
The
silver blue green
rocks
rise from the track traced
snow
We work our way
through the warm
rose purple shelter
of the red pine
out onto the
edge of the
pond.
Beaver hay
grows from the
white
while purple black
fallen branches
tell of
drowned land.
Up over the
maple ridge
we turn
and
look back into
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the
tree patterned
air.
And now
the world changes.
As we descend
between the
boulders
the rough silver
black bark of the
yellow birch
talks of tree
power.
Cedar roots
wrap around and
grip the rocks
with snake like
energy
as the trunks
reach out with
ballet arms
to hold
the air against
the hill
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