Thursday, February 22, 2024

Elegy on Ice

 


 

Parked beside the frozen lake

we munch blueberry muffins

and slurp our dark roast coffee.

The plain sheet of lake regards

the sky with something like worship

but lacking that subservience.

Such broad dimensions regret

nothing, rooted in creation

that continues to self-create.

No ice fishing, no snowmobiles,

nothing but an unwritten text.

Maybe the ice isn’t thick enough

to brace the wooden bobhouses

that used to pepper the scene

on the boldest winter mornings.

I wish we could fold up the lake

and an equal expanse of sky

and bring them home to install

in our back yard. Then we’d enjoy

this expanse until it thawed

and wept into the water table

where our deepest thoughts deploy.

 

 

No comments: