Murderously ColdSpruce burst with percussive force:A thousand snapping snares.
Long cracks line once-mighty trunks;Trees murdered by the cold.Larvae of Dendroctonus:in spruce bark they repose.Cryogenic'ly preserved;Swarms murdered by the cold.Moose won't move from sheltered spruce:
The wolves can't track their prey.Fat makes warmth. There's none for heat;Packs murdered by the cold.Voles make tunnels 'neath the snow:It's always warmer there.Their den's an iced white blanket;Protected by the cold.Men lie sleeping in the streets:Wrapped in space-aged fleece.Without a den for shelter,
January 01, 2009
At this temperature...
According to Environment Canada, it was -38oC outside when I took Nanuq for his evening walk two nights ago. It later dropped to -40oC. As I walked, safely bundled in my winter clothes and returning to a nice, warm house, I thought about what shelter and survival means at -40oC...
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I'd like to say I like your poem very much - but "like" seems like an inappropriate word. Hope you know what I mean tho. :)
Nope, I'm totally confused.
Subnivean is such a beautiful word! I will share it with my class tomorrow. Thanks for the link.
Well, the ending kind of punches you in the gut. I know that's the point, so I like it... but saying I like it makes me feel like I don't get the gut-punch. I mean, who likes to be punched in the gut?
Ah, I see! Thanks!
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