* * * * * *
I long to be thrust into the cold embrace of a winter wilderness,
To tramp upon the crunch of crusted snow,
To smell the pain of icy air expanding when inhaled
* * * * * *
And feel the softness of a flake of snow as it settles warmly on my frozen nose,
* * * * * *
To open and reclose my brittle lips on teeth which shiver in the biting air,
To feel the nip of winter’s ravenous jaws and wind heed not my heavy winter clothes,
* * * * * *
To feel the life-blood freezing in my naked fingers
* * * * * *
and walk on sticks of toes which feel no more;
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
All this with longing wakens in me when every year the autumn season ends,
The strange emotion which comes just to restless people,
The lonely call of winter wanderlust.
* * * * *
* * * * * *
To feel these tiny bits of cold and dying is the best way I can appreciate
* * * * * *
The fire-warmth of a little one-room cabin
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
Or the stubborn life within a twisted tree.
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
To live within the wildness meant forever
* * * * * *
And realize our whims are not supreme
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
But Nature, when the time comes, will reclaim us—
* * * * * *
All this makes up the winter wanderlust.
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
After the thrust into a wilderness,
* * * * * *
After tramping on the crunch of crusted snow,
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
After blood has frozen in my sticks of fingers and of toes,
After the soft, warm snowflake has melted
From some mysterious heat within my nose,
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
After the wind has chilled me to the bone,
* * * * * *
Then comes the culmination of this wanderlust—
* * * * * *
The return to warmth, to shed my icy coat,
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
Stand and tingle as the rushing blood thaws out my frozen skin,
* * * * * *
Wince in pain as toe-sticks reawaken, and glow as life returns again.
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
This is the essence of the wanderlust.
* * * * * *
To long to suffer in the wilderness,
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
To will to make my feet and fingers dead-like,
To greet the icy wind with a welcome thrill,
Ultimately, I renew my life.
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
After touching death’s cold icy fingers,
To come again and live to love the warmth—
This strange emotion which comes just to restless people,
To touch the ruthless side of Mother Nature
And love as life returns again—
* * * * *
This death, and life, with longing wakens in me
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
The lonely call of winter wanderlust.
The lonely call of winter wanderlust.
The Bridge 