Down From the Heia

I have descended down from the mountain From being another one A man whose errands were Norwegian snow To one whose role I now not know I have fallen far from a midnight fountain To spring from work and work alone Whose parole to parley silence Now must insight some other sense To be someone and then another, A bit here, there, but never anywhere, Is to hide from you so you can seek, The winter that makes me more than bleak Courageous but also seeking cover, A secret grove gives light to wear, The tree whose soul makes me weak, Into her hands my tears are meek. The snow, white and grizzly in my beard, My chiseled hair wild in the fierce north, Now tamed, refrained and differently framed, What lies in the brush but civility tamed. My dishevelment is certainly not to be feared, A finer figure will soon come forth, Whose mimicry will appear contained, To settle down with mind pertained. Down, down we all must someday go, For to stay around too long up high, Is to bother new shadows who need their space, From your ashes they too must build a face. Tell me brother that all this you know, That the hull of summer makes the winter rye, The Nordic way is like man’s big race, To leave this earth with a skier’s grace. Back to the heights I soon do trek, Here below I breath but just barely so, The sea in the north is not the sea of paradise, For fish indeed but surfers please think twice. Miles high beyond the hills lies a sleeping wreck, A day dreams carving a downwards flow, Under a layer of snow a family feasts on salted mice, A wasteland refuge for solid people made of ice.