Subartic Spring

The bare grey birches, nestled against snow-shrouded pine

Subzero force-fire winds flurry snow all through the stark woods whine,

Straw-hued grasses, flattened by the winter’s ice, asleep,

Silvery lakes in which the creaking, groaning ice runs deep,

Lakeshore cabins, unused, lonely, cold at 40 plus below,

A land of desolate solitude, with life dormant under frozen snow.


The last snow over, the red orb-like sun cuts a saw,

Warming the crisp, light air as frozen lands begin to thaw,

Grass seeds nudged by twelve hour light awake, blades seek the warming rays,

Birch buds instantaneously green, welcoming the hot spring days.


The transformation now complete in the blinking of a season’s eye,

Sparks men’s thoughts to fishing trout with rod and fly.

Young women’s sparkling eyes abound for those with joy d’amour,

While older, rheumy bones rejoice the passing of the winter’s hoar,


Subarctic spring, an amazing testament to Nature’s powerful force,

A time for wonderment of life, renewal and searching for our source.




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