Scurrying about

We've arrived
a pristine snowy place,
whitest of white, purple half moons trail in our footprints
Skeletons of bush and tree reside in quiet cod,
side by side, close and thick, heavily powdered.

One moment we congregrate, stand in a cluster.
Our private nerve endings left vulnerable
As usual I begin scurrying about, forget to look around.
They say, we've reached the top of it but instincts remind me,
"look back" over the edge a glimpse,
"A sea!" below the steepness, the Caribbean sea?
an emerald dipped in turquoise cloaked in the aqua of marine?
A sun refracts crystalline off the tips of peaking waves,
detracts from acres of snow that encompass a beach,
but a ring of gold, notched with palm trees covered in new snow
A blessing from the hand of God,
relief from abnormal heights of heat,
developed in expanding holes above.

Then the others, find a snow tunnel. Without warning disappear into it,
and as I lean over to see where they've gone only their voices,
shout with delight: "Come on! come on,!"
They don't know I won't follow, afraid of protrusions of rock and twisted root,
perhaps my body too large, that I might not reach the bottom,
stuck in dank limbo between here and frozen paradise.

Wings of eight snow buntings startle,
fly past without hesitation into the narrow,
effortless, follow voices by instinct.
aware of very breath in their powerful being,
their bodies, mere specks against a more powerful mass

The strength of my passion tested, in a decision to join them on the edge below,
Instead of waiting their return
like the bird woman

in Mary Poppins

P. Bainbridge
Teulon, MB