A fascination with ice, pack ice, as it rejoices and groans in its high-pitched voice and spins and spindles its way downriver.
There is flat ice and piled ice and ice as blue as the river and mirrored ice and ice reflected in the river and grey ice and black ice and brown ice and ice so heavy it sinks and ice so light it rises to the surface and bubbles and tinkles, a fine champagne in the river's glass.
And the gulls: hopping, hiding, riding, sliding, lapping, flapping, taking off, landing ....
...seriously standing, one-eyed and winking, there for a second and gone in the blinking ....
... there are mountains to climb on, small pillows to recline on, view points and rest points to take your time on, meditative areas to be sublime on, ice sheets to write prose on and some to rhyme on .... some ice sheets aged with dirt and others clean enough to dine one ....

Return to Moore's Miramichi
Return to Moore's Miramichi