When you miss the things that you used to hate—
Like corn on the cob and the cruel ice
On which you hurt yourself so many times—
The nasty things that bind you to a life that will never
Return—that’s when you realize that the cries of the forest
Will forever haunt your thoughts and that’s when you know
That the love for shaggy frozen waterfalls will always follow you.
The struggle to acquire that extra evolutionary layer
Has petrified this evasive quirkiness about you,
Who feel like a living fossil, a remnant of the last
Glaciation, preserved in permafrost quickly melting away.
Carry well those genes of poetry and maple sweetness,
The sun blasting away at your boundless happiness,
The unconscious life that moves forward like a Laurentide
Ice sheet depositing long lasting gravels and engraving
The elongated moraines of bone-rock in the hayfields.
So on you go, perceiving, as in stop-motion,
The wet wood shavings flying off the shimmering kerf,
The never-ending singing that will envelop your steps—
No matter where you go.