Ice Out

Snow remains on the ground both here in slowly melting parking lot piles, and at the cabin in hollows, ditches, and blanketing the forest floor.  Of course, the lake remains capped with ice. With the right timing, my ears can attest to the protests of trapped water, itching to be free.



Ice Out


Deep throated whoops,
muffled vibratos escape as I scan
the lake's frozen cover
cracked and vulnerable as tempered glass.

A lost beluga whale? Inland?

More likely the sound
of water planning a breakout,
scheming through frigid walls of lockdown.

And I know it's only a matter of shocks
before waves roll free,
and farther north icebergs flee,
shadowing leviathans' timeworn trails.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor