IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
Along Lake Superior in Late Winter
A poem
Wednesday morning, daybreak
wind carols through bare trees
rings like voices clear as church bells
with my sister in early morning cold.
I hear songs of seasons
sounding in such contrast to this.
I remember midnights swelled with heat
and as high school girls
shed our clothes, entered the dark water
beneath skies black with no moon.
After, hearts pounding,
running all the way home.
I come back every year to this place,
listen as winter whirls down.
Memory cries out from every stone;
there is solace to be found
in the clear air — the closest I’ve found
to a perfect silence.
The joy of my life
will be the return
to the realm of a place like this -
stark and solitary shores
where a power that’s not me
descends, its simple cords resounding.
There I stand
to a rising and falling,
the music of wind through trees.
And just as we did as girls,
dance in darkness
with the happiness of dreams
that unfold like wings.
