Northern Ontario

The scent of pines will carry you across our Northern Front. Where trees that breathe through oily bark will lead you in the hunt. A place where forests comb the skies controlling even weather. Where rain falls fast to hit the ground that drought seems fixed to tether. A place where frogs will leap in fear when puddles ring their ripples. And crickets spring to save themselves with landings meant for cripples. Where swamps sit pregnant sucking reeds the blackflies climb in heat. Where lilypads will float their wake. Their flowers sure to greet. To forest floors of twigs for bedding. A magic set in motion. With fireflies to wildflowers. The streams cut through for potion. With several scattered stubby growths. Round fungus forming mushrooms. To toadstools with a virus on where everlasting night looms. A land with lakes and rivers flowing. Directing all we know. No stronger force in nature felt. A life where it would flow. It's people on the shorelines dwell. Ontarians in the North. No greater love of nature found than all of us come fourth. A wilderness alive with passion. This Northern life our home. To fit in with these million lives could only be a poem.