rain started late in the night
drumming soft
it was comforting and
not a concern
we had a new tent and
its taut nylon held well
but the wind came up
hard and vicious
and with it, hail
it beat with fury
lightening, white flashes illuminating our little fortress
showing every detail of our bodies
snug in sleeping bags
trees bent and singing from their branches
limbs falling near
the hard drum of white pellets
growing with each gust
shaking our little tent
shaking our confidence
we did not speak
but my wife's hand moved over to mine
holding it tight
tight, to ward off the fear
fear from the increasing storm
with huge gusts of wind and hail
now, not a drum, but
a crashing symphonic chaos of nature
powerful and intense, knowing we were not in control
we were spectators, prone and at its whim
its fury increased our thoughts fused with eternity
the river rising with run-off
not far from our shelter
I did not speak, nor did she
we just waited
waited for the storm
waited for the storm
jack kaiser
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
the occasional rantings and bantering of a poet-cum-philosopher-cum-musician-cum-theologian-cum-traveller in time and space...in short... an epistemological nomad...with a guitar
2 comments:
Not familiar with the poet, but my wife and I did spend our honeymoon twenty-two years ago in a tent in various locations around Banff and Jasper. Think it did rain one night and the floor of the tent got wet, but we had a plastic tarp under us and our sleeping bags stayed dry. First night's camp was on a riverbank. Didn't worry about flooding, but did wonder if we were safe from bears. Usually stayed in tent camps with shower and toilet facilities. Other campers we encountered mostly spoke German or Japanese. The tram to the top of Whistler Mountain was fantastic, but also loved the Columbia ice field. Passed a moose at dusk one night along the side of the road. Did a u-turn to go back and get a picture of him, but not enough light for a photo. Rode the Canadian Pacific from Vancouver up to Lake Louise, but the brakemen went on strike the next day and hadn't settled a week later so the return trip was on Greyhound. Only spent one night in a hotel, the King Eddie. Bar crowd was much too loud.
interesting craig
the poem expresses the event of a storm in canada
the poet lives in calgary
and hikes skis and fishes and camps in the rockies up there he's also a hockey nut and devoted to canadian music
when i was a kid my family used to vacation in the winter in banff at the big hotel it was our treat for the year...i remember skiing the steep slopes of NORQUAY
Post a Comment