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THE GIFT Sliding slowly up the fjord Slicing silently through the thick brume We hold our collective breaths Uncertain what may be revealed Minutes, then an hour, slip away Lonely fog horns moan Breaking the silence As we pass each other unseen Each wake rocking us gently While small waves rhythmically slap the hull Suddenly, it seems The dense fog that shrouded our surroundings Thins Revealing dark sentinels Poking above the thick gray haze In another breath we find ourselves Gawking upward at towering cliffs That clutch a hanging glacier Where the ice sheet that carved them Meets the Labrador Sea The oldest and most dense layers Revealed by deep, arctic blue streaks Appearing in its face Ancient, clear melt water Feeds freshwater pools in the exposed rock at its base and Rushes its way down to the sea Sweet willowherb and harebell Blanket the pools with their Lavender blooms, Joined by tart mountain sorrel Brown, glossy, buoyant Intertidal bladderwrack Traces the rocky shore A playground for any naturalist A grand feast for any mystic A rare jewel of solitude Inspiration for contemplation The scale of time shifts A lifetime for the supplicant But a blink for the land Giving me hope that its secrets Survive its impudent children And, in the meantime, Those of us with long memories Will continue to seek solace In its embrace

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