This one (probably my last poetic venture) stems from my experience which I wrote about a year and a half ago. See my post "Up North" to read more detail.
It was time again for a trip up North to the land of water and pine. So we loaded our vans with food and gear and began to drive the line. "Mid-October is the best of times to enjoy the color of Fall," Spoke a sage of the region, a man of the North, who was trusted to know it all.
The skies were bright, the air was warm, and the days, thus far, bode well; Oblivious, we were, on our paddling trip to the coming, raging swell. On a Tuesday morn we departed east for a day-trip to the Falls, But half-way there the white caps rose as the breezes turned to squalls.
Paddling camp-ward, heading west, we fought our way back home; With muscles aching, stomachs empty, we battled through the foam. As daylight faded and dinner simmered the winds did not relent. Instead, the gusts began to shift and drove us to our tents.
Through the night the mercury dropped as the northern breath beat down, And on our humble camping grounds a white coat cloaked the ground. All day Wednesday, blasted blasts beat harsh against our site; Instead of heading southward, home, we spent another night.
Huddled, hunkered, hibernating deep inside our sacks, We dreamed of heading home away from Northland's outback. On a frosty Thursday morning we were greeted with the sound Of nature's awesome silence, and we quickly scattered 'round.
The paddle, as we ventured south, slapped ice with every stroke, But the thought of seeing home again, in us, warm thoughts awoke. The journey back was ordinary, restful and serene, And later, thinking 'bout the North brought anxious thoughts to me.
A few weeks passed and as I sat in my reclining chair I looked for something new to read and saw it sitting there; A book I'd bought some months before explored the northern woods. It gave me pause to grab and look and think about what could Be quite a soul-enriching time if I would dare go back And seek to love the land I hated when warm air grew slack.
It's been more than a year now since I last encamped those shores, But I have firmly resolved, meanwhile, to visit there once more. Beware of seeing God at work where beauty is unmatched, For to these wild, wonderlands our hearts become attached.
Tucked neatly in the pages of Genesis' verse, God molds a man from simple mud, which later would be cursed. And ever since, the ties that bind man to the lowly dust, Lure him oft to journey wide and love lands cruel and just.
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