Archive
03/11/10 - (3)
Fog
Getting here can be a real ordeal, a treacherous odyssey, Not only in the depths of winter's frigid abyss, With its paralyzing, blinding blizzards, snow, ice, bitter winds, But even as the season edges inexorably toward spring, Which pervades this clime earlier each year, And a virtually-unheard-of mid-March fog rolls in, Blanketing the hoary shores of Lake Superior. Today, forty-degree demons spawn obscurity, invisibility, Depriving pilots of sky to fly in, keeping planes grounded, stranded.
Indeed, this Thursday presented just such a tribulation, Consisting of a three-hour shuttle ride from Minneapolis to Duluth, Through thick shroud-vapors of ubiquitous white gauze, Then another seventy-minute near-blind crawl, in my rental car, To this frozen-over lake, by which I'll stay ten days. And how close I came to taking a flight home, Reneging on my rendezvous with the North Woods, Forgoing my need for seclusion, tranquillity, Some place to be absolutely no place, for an interlude of forever.
But this evening, here again, after two months and a week, I realize that this timeless, inviolable village of Lake Nebagamon — Immaculately haloed in curdling mist, Insulated by the most serene silence I could possibly listen to, Isolated from the clattering traffic of busy cities Fidgeting, twitching, listing on the dizzying precipice of chaos — This exquisite nowhere in the upper Midwest Will never lose sight of me, in blizzards or fogs, Always light my way, invite me to stay a lifetime or a day.
03/11/10 - (3)
|
|||
|
|||
