Here is a poem I recently wrote in January. I hope you will enjoy it. It’s called “One Snowy Day in South Porcupine, Ontario, 1975”
I cross country skied in South Porcupine
when eyelashes clumped white from the cold.
At 3 o’clock the babysitter mercifully arrived
and stayed till night began to fall around four.
In colorful breathable light layers of clothes
I skied across the road and field into
woods that stretched all the way up to James Bay.
After a property dispute about sharing toys
I was weary – winter was long.
I skied fast – so lost in the thought that
I failed to notice the snow beginning to fall.
I saw my covered tracks. I was lost.
Light was slant as I skied past trees I didn’t know —
circling – passing the same ones again and again.
Then there was a shift in my vision into light.
Hope sprang up deep and wide.
I hear the sounds of teenagers talking.
As I cried and laughed I skied towards them.
From that road where we lived — after
night had fully fallen — we sometimes
saw the glorious dancing Aurora Borealis,
the northern lights.
Is there something about light dancing
that leads us back to inner times
when light has broken us open?
This is a lovely poem. It is easy for me to understand. I can feel your fear and relief.