This winter has not been as bleak as some. The lack of snow was getting me down there for awhile, but now I set my sights toward spring. A long time ago I heard someone refer to Itasca State Park in winter as “the cathedral.” That idea stuck with me, and I was pleased to be able to work some cathedral vocabulary into an ode , of sorts. So often it is easier to write from a distance. In a different winter I would ski. This winter, I’ll write about skiing.
Under the lancet arch of pines
we follow snow’s tracery
across transept paths,
as jays cry from corbelled branches
at the finial-perched hawk.
We ski the apse,
enter the nave,
where embattlements fade
in the tree-mullioned light
and our gargoyles smile
for this one cloistered breath.
4 responses to “In the Bleak Midwinter”
This is a perfect poem about a perfect place at the perfect time.
Very nice and tight. Peaceful.