Subnivean Zone
I once knew a woman who trusted
the snow to keep her warm. She dug
shelters in blizzards, slept snugly
among the evergreens, rabbits, and deer.
I imagined she heard spirits pass
through sugar-coated branches, whispering
emboldened messages that I could never hear.
My life is ruled by superstition and fear,
my comfort zone makes its home
in anxiety and dread.
I tell myself if I worry enough
I might prevent the worst from happening.
Still, I hunger to grasp the wind’s wisdom
and embrace the faith of a creek’s guttural psalm.
Like the field mouse who finds safety
in the layers between ground and snow
I yearn to roam without distraction
of early sunsets and gathering storms.
I long to reject thoughts of doubt and suspicion––
to hear only hints of courage from a forest’s sigh.
It’s ten degrees and I’m alone on a trail
flanked by frosty creeks, ice shelves,
and snow capped knee-high walls
built of granite, gneiss, and limestone.
Blue stalactites drip down the sides
of mossy banks. They shimmer,
stalwart against the distant sun.
Each uphill step takes me deeper
into the woods. Mesmerized,
I fight the urge to turn back––
trepidation groaning
from the tree crowns.
Author: Laurie Rosen
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