Shrew Poem
Mt. Moosilauke, N.H., 1998
With November half unborn
My son & I hiked a snow delineated
Gorge Brook Trail. The footworn
Way made our walking unintimidated.In two weeks my radical post-pubic
Prostatectomy's scheduled;
We neared the tree line's Orphic
Opening, the storm-ruledApproach to the granite summit,
Where blizzard whirls of shifting snows
Sowed blindness, a certain plummit
Toward fears' shadows.Only the white space between
Scrub pine and fir directed our climb:
No past marks of others seen
Now marked this our time.There, there in this sub-freezing, gail-driven noon
We found
A shrew
Foraging for small mites.
She was unconcerned by this place, this site of winter's force.
She plunged in and out of drifting snows;
She sought the edges of birch and fir
To dive deep into the white cover and re-surface,
Not even gasping for air.We broke tree line. No hope lay
In the solid white of the storm's worth;
Between cairns only blindness to essay.
Here was for us the season's dearth.And the shrew with the will to strive
Unthoughtful of concern:
Will she thus survive?
And will I remember the stern
Will, the Shrew's plight
As I descend the trail's turn?
Or succumb unto death's fright?
