Poem by Hunter Hansen
Consider my surroundings; the snow-capped lava stones
Freckling the landscape pristine, a whited glassy sheen
Glistening with reflections on a sharpened sky of blue
And shimmering with frigid stillness, sunshine no warmth bears
Rivulets amid the glacial mass keep carving through
Spilling over and under, seeping through to moss ever-dying
All within the eyes are seen, blanket of white
Atmosphere of blue and ebony pebbles
Solitary road, like a jagged incision through flawlessness,
The brutal slice, akin to one which problems lead
Guides instead to a solitary land, an afternoon mood
Where, no matter how far one walks, the snow land stays
In place: each frosty breath reawakening the passion
Simply to stay; returning is a lifelong thing at times
After arrival, all past having past needs to be reclaimed.
So many years, never having seen snow-laden fields
So many years to consider my surroundings, drinking them in
To replenish my thirst, sixty-six degrees north.
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