Lesser Slave Lake

I went to Lesser Slave Lake Provincial Park last week with my daughter's Environmental Education class. Here are a couple pictures and an attempt at a Sapphic Ode.

Under weighted clouds now the rippling blue lake,

pale as fairy's eyes in the land of songbirds,

calls the shy spring from beneath the bleached blond

grass to arise fresh.

Birches shine white, echoed by juiceless driftwood.

Left behind by winter, a lonesome snow ridge

hides behind sand dunes and the fiery dogwood,

cool in the damp wind.

Saskatoon twigs rise into gleaming gemstone

buds and starkly black, among muted wood tones,

trunks of burnt trees linger erect like charcoal

marks on the landscape.

Further off, bird banders are watching flocks swoop,

knowing all their patterns of flight and shrill calls.

Morning brings them captives in spider web nets,

tangled and wide eyed.

Hands as gently firm as those of midwives

hold the small captives as they stretch and measure.

Softer yet, breath rustles the feathers, flows through,

revealing pink flesh.

Soon the task is done and the bird is set free.

Up it flies now, grazing the top-most tree limbs,

scenting nesting grounds in its waking homeland

north of the pale lake.