The Gift
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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