Underneath

Jan 28 2020

The lake ice

is protected by snow,

a white reflective blanket

in this unseasonable warmth.

Underneath, still water,

where fish hunt and hover

spawn and grow.

Eat, and are eaten

in the repeating cycle

of birth and death.

Held

in the cold black depths

that are starved of air

and will not be replenished for months.

While on the steep slope

of the south-facing shore

a patch of earth has been exposed,

sandy brown soil

like a spreading stain.

I watch it expanding, day by day

as the sun incrementally strengthens

and the warmth of deep underground

radiates up.

Which is how change happens,

faster and faster

once the dam gives way.

Everything alive, down there

in spite of winter.

Roots and worms and burrowing creatures

snug in temperate earth.

Fungal hyphae

branching and spreading their intricate nets.

And microscopic life,

relentlessly feeding

on the decomposing matter

of duff and leaves and rotting trees,

dead animals

their disembowelled remains.

Waiting

for the next storm

to repair the surface.

For the world to return to virgin white,

snuggled-up under

its comforting warmth.

The muffled silence

of a mantle of snow.

Monochrome.

Blinding.

Lifeless.