Ice

On a Christmas Day hike up the Cascade River on the north shore of Lake Superior, I walked and wrote this poem in my head thinking that, sometimes, I am this river.

Ice

river water rolls under the ice, over the rocks,
falling, falling on its way to the lake

drawn downward, rolling stones
round boulders and over –

the lake does not fill up
the river does not run dry

even now, in winter, when snow lands
firmly on the ground and stays until April

when the trees have given up their leaves,
their roots frozen in the ground

water slides
beneath the ice

– Steve Peterson

Published by

Steve Peterson

I teach fifth grade in Iowa.

One thought on “Ice”

  1. I love reading this poem with the sound of the water to accompany the words. So much hope here.

    Heidi wrote this in her PF post this week: “This is the paradox of two truths about life that are bruisingly, simultaneously true at every moment of every day: life is excruciating AND beautiful.”

    We must not lose track of the beautiful.

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