A river and a bay collide right here
At angles, and it’s presto, you get a narrow
Point of land that links contrasting water basins.
Then abracadabra, and you have a place
Of diverse habitats for winter-driven
Migrant waterfowl. And then the unexpected –
The dead of winter here, bewitched by birds,
The uttermost and life-filled season of the year.
It wasn’t always so right here, that nature
Could go cycling and recycling on
Through all the seasons unimpeded.
Some sleight of time brought substitutions and intrusions in
Like rabbits from a hat –
Explorers, planters, look-outs,
A civil war-time hospital and prison,
And surely no surprise,
The dead no longer just a metaphor for winter.
Now hocus pocus and we have visions and revisions
Still for working on, reversals here and there
Return towards basics,
A spell of magic in the dead of winter.
