Squatters

Just returned from a weekend up North. The thermometer registered -16 degrees yesterday morning, and during the night the bedroom's baseboard heating conked out. Snuggling becomes imperative in situations like that even with heat in the rest of the cabin.

Out on the lake hardy souls went ice-fishing all day.  Not for me, thank you, nor the snowmobiles. Who knows how low the windchill when flying on one of them. A warm fire and steaming cup of coffee, books and writing material held me captive and content. And now I'm back in the city, looking forward to next month's trip without the teeth chattering cold.


Squatters

On the unsullied banner of winter's lake
two forms hunker down: vagrants?
No, not human but animal.

Bodies rounded like rolled bales of hay
and dark as mama bear's fur.
Too small for Big Foot progeny.

Diminutive, milk-jug heads
tucked against the wind.  Aberrant wolves?

Before I can raise my eye-piece
they unfold, shape-shift:
a duo of bald eagles free-riding an updraft.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor