Archive
12/27/09 - (2)
Snow Spirits
I awaken, this glistening Sunday in Lake Nebagamon, To the first sunshine to grace this white country In five gray days.
The sky is a wondrously laden, broken-open geode, Exposing its cavernous stratocumulus crystals — Subtle, argenteous ivory accreting to the azure.
The iced-over, snow-covered lake is faceted with fire, Not unlike what I remember being so amazed by, From mid-May through end-of-September's most recent visits,
And calling, as did the Chippewas, "water spirits," When the sun's pulsating rays struck the breeze-riffled waves, At the slightest angles of refraction, igniting their tips.
On this golden-orange fourteen-degree morning, As I sit half-naked, at the cabin's kitchen table, sipping V8, Gazing as far as the burning lake takes me,
My senses are dizzy, with these pinpricks of light — This explosive snow-spirit riot — And my bones warm, slowly, to their blazing radiance.
12/27/09 - (2)
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