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?