Paradise Road

I want for nothing more

Than to be satisfied beyond sight

That this snowy track holds no fears

For prey of mist-breathing, eye piercing

Grey wolves hunting winter elk

And the horses can go no further.

 

The drifts have moved and piled

Far higher than yesterday

Thick against the silver birch

And the northwind hurtles

South, bouncing end over end

Bladed slicing iced valley tarns.

 

Whipping the flapping canvas fly

Squadrons of branches torn away

To ice storm shelter in sculpted fields

Carved in frozen clay. Crimson signs appear

In the white, wolf kills that suggest

Need of shelter for beast and traveller.

 

No-one notices the failed nests

Black spots scattered across the spine

And branches of skeletal trees

But they are visible even so

Perfect proof of lives unfulfilled

Reduced to monochromatic landscapes

Opportunity hunts insatiable, in packs.

 

Chris Hubbard

2020