First Ice
by Mary Atkinson
On gray November mornings
Mom and I are on the lookout for First Ice.
When it skitters across the pond
like crinkled glass, we know
it’s Time
We grab our equipment,
our snacks and thermos
and run to the canoe
We are Arctic explorers
We break ice
Dodge floes
Brush icy water aside –
it’s all part of The Job
We are the First Women,
the first women in history!
to discover to this November pond
where water, wind, and sky
ducks, trees, and hills
are one
Expedition accomplished.
We paddle back to shore.
Sun comes out.
by noon First Ice is gone.
Tomorrow we’ll be back.
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