The ice arrived sometime just past midnight
leaving them perplexed
and leaderless as parking lot sparrows.
Morning hit them like a klieg light
and they are uncertain even how to fly.
Their familiar, forgiving world
is suddenly extreme, their soft pond,
as soft as flesh, easy as tears,
now brittle and closed off as an arms-crossed lover.
Imagine their surprise
waddling over this shell
where, when they went to sleep,
they were assured of softness.
They have every reason to be angry
but all they know is fear.
To them the ice is endless. But in truth it is thin,
brittle, and we could easily
rescue them. Simply step out
one heavy boot crushing through,
then another, another, wet, insistent,
rising up and crashing through, plowing
a channel, taking
the lead for them, the surface snapping
and splitting at my slow stroll.
Instead we just gaze about, bewildered
at this so unexpected chill, this sudden
impenetrable cover blocking us from
what was only yesterday certain.
We have every reason to be mad
but all we know is dread.
Gordon Hickey 