we felt the first bite of cold as we explored,
the newly fallen snow on the shore.
even with the last three days on the lake,
wind-swept and cloud-heavy,
it came as a surprise,
and although the skies carried the promise of rain,
and the lake picked-up,
loud and full-
we expected nothing.
yet like an unwanted guest it came,
its gusty skeleton rattling in the night
clanking the cottage furnace,
waking us both. We closed the door,
and rolled over until morning
when we were awoken by
icicle fingers on the window
then like a curtain rising and revealing the stage,
i pulled open the blinds,
and there stood our restless messenger.
we were weary-eyed and unprepared for the show.
a quick pang of grief,
followed by a sobering acceptance
of a mid-October winter,
and forgiveness of this event
for nature, in all her glory,
is an oblivious intruder,
and blameless she remains,
as it is our own hand,
that forces the seasons.
here we fret like hungry children,
at our tired mother,
and she responds as one would;
can't satisfy the need. All consuming,
oil-drilling, always-taking, need
she's depleted and erratic; unpredictable and unkind,
so she brings us long winter.
and we are no match,
propelling her rhythms to suit our own:
distracted, hot-tempered, flighty,
By: Lindsay Ronald