For the season: A poem for Christmas
A morning’s blanket of snow tucked itself around tree wells, as I meandered through the old clear-cut edges in search of the perfect Christmas tree.
Spotting a nice Doug fir, I dusted it off and broke out the bow saw. As I prepared this tree for transport, I noticed a shaft of sunlight highlighting a group of firs, penetrating the grays and whites of this winter dawn. As the light was bent through crystals on boughs, multi colored lights sparkled in celebration.
The wafflelike imprints of my snowshoes were erased by the travois method of movement, dragging the tree behind me. I was momentarily taken back by the views of the Cabinet Mountains, and remarked to myself what an inspirational place this cathedral-like setting really was for poem and prayer.
Upon arrival home, I realized the tree I had selected was not at all perfect, but that it would certainly do me well. And in such a way, the reality of life touches this holiday season.
Many are financially strapped. Some are alone. Families are fragmented, or geographically distant. Others may be dealing with illness or an injury to a loved one.
Soldiers are off fighting foreign wars, light years away from warmth and peace. Let’s keep good wishes for all in our prayers and poems.
“A Tracker’s Christmas”
It was the night before Christmas,
and outside the house
an ermine bounded after a field mouse
No sign of his catch was I aware
but the two by two bound was evident there
The grouse were all roosting in trees of snow sheds
While ptarmigan nestled in fluff to their heads
A bobcat tip-toed to fill her platter
hoping to help her kittens grow fatter
The flying squirrel flew from a tree like a flash
trying to increase his winter food stash
Deer bedded under cover of snow
but the elk were still feeding and more on the go
Barred owls called without fear
Wishing the cooks were busy and near
A pine marten darted up a tree so quick
the squirrel barely escaped, voicing a click
The snowshoe hare played a darting game
leaving the lynx hungry just the same
The red fox danced like a vixen
a late supper she hoped to be fixen
Cougars mating call started to ball
lonely, tired, and sick of it all
Geese were startled and started to fly
so the ducks joined them, not knowing why
Lead goose to the sky flew
navigating by stars, constellations, too
Hearing commotion moose took to the hoof
and wolves were watching, sniffing, and aloof
Up a tree a fisher did bound
hearing the action, and pinpointing the sound
He was dressed in fleece and wool to his foot
and snowshoes protruded from the toe of his boot
A bundle of gear he had on his back
bright nylon colors, highlighted his pack
He moved through the brush, ninebark and snowberry
and turned, knocking snow off a bittercherry
The path of the wolverine he did not know
but the set of trail camera’s he started to sow
In the freezing cold weather
he clenched his teeth
As he cut a few boughs
for a homemade wreath
He was lean and moved with some stealth
as he contemplated his wilderness wealth
Wind narrowed his eyes
and furrowed his brow
And he was astonished at what he saw now
hiking up a ways to where the ridge rose
He wiped the frostbite
from his running nose
His eyes twinkled and he had to stare
at the miracle that was in the sky there
For above the trees, and in the big sky
was a streaking white comet, that shed light as it let fly
His happiest Christmas, he suddenly knew
for him and his family, and hopefully for you.
(Brian Baxter is an outdoorsman. His columns appear periodically in The Western News.)