January at Caribou Creek

the ice under our feet shone white and cracked

or blueish gray under the nodding arc of light

the boot tramp crunch on corn snow

and the voices soft came muffled through my downy hood

our backs not aching yet but would

from packs which held the weekend cheer

I watched our shadows stretch against the ice

like moonbeams lumens bobbed across the crags

we looked for jagged falls of ice which swept clear

down and met the creek and tunneled frozen fingertips

into the frosted wash that rose in jumbled heaps

the milky floes like white rock ruptured and below

the hushing hundreds weaving wet under the ice

all met as one and left us there as cold as edelweiss.

 

 

 

 

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