Ice Flows

It’s been weeks but it is stuck in my mind
That cold March day, New England is so strange.
We just had the warmest February,
Wearing short sleeves and 70 degrees.
This has past, it’s cold now, despite the sun.
A relentless wind, I hear a strange sound
Coming from the river, deep and grinding.

Movement on the surface catches my eye.
Looking out I see swirls of ice and snow,
It’s like looking at the earth from from the sky.
The warm February softened the ice
Followed by the long days of rain and snow.
Huge shelves have broken away from the shore.
The churn, crashing into rocks, the rapids
And navigating the Amoskeag Falls.
Crushed ice is floating in the river flow.

Staring into the mix of this chaos
Each piece is traveling on its own path.
Sometimes in tight packs, loose, or all alone.
Such tiny things, but taken as a whole
Patterns emerge, change, appear, disappear.
The ice melts and the water is released.
Joins with the river and goes to the sea.
It will evaporate and join the air
Traveling in swirls only high above.
Then falling down in some far away land.
The cycle begins all over again.

I see the river almost every day
And at first glance it always appears the same.
Bounded by old mill buildings on one side
And the blind interstate from the other.
Really, the river is never the same,
Where each moment is completely unique,
Each moment passes from one to the next.
If it’s missed, sadly, never to repeat.

David Gray