365 Poems/38 Winter (Rough first draft)
We dream of polar bears, white elk and glaciers,
and become more conscious of time passing,
after getting lost in woods at sundown,
when owls flew low and silent
like spectres over the tops of our heads,
then on, through dark trees.
We remember our dead, and ones
who found lumps in their breasts.
We are not tourists, we know this season well.
We become more wary of science,
and stick to what our fathers taught us
about snowfall, frost and how to survive an avalanche.
We demand development during winter,
even though it’s really a time for rest and recuperation.
We buy candles by the boxful, and always
cook too much rice, because we believe everyone
will have the appetite of wolves.
We plan adventures, because we don’t want to sleep
while it snows. Since childhood, we’ve harboured
the belief we might miss something special,
like snow crawling back upwards towards the stars.