~ John Ricard 7/8/03

There is a place I love to be, away afar from somewhere near.

It is a place where tales are told of moose and bear and sometimes deer.

It has a cold and distant past, of ice and rock and snow.

T’was carved out of the land you see by glaciers long ago.

Waters take their place today and sand upon the shore.

But listen carefully at night and you’ll often hear them roar.

Of cold and distant howling winds and ice piled two miles deep.

Of creeping glaciers, rounding rocks where no one ever sleeps.

I sit upon a wooden dock with fishing rod in hand.

And look and listen to the wind as it whips ‘cross the land.

I see the evening sun set, bright and all aglow.

I feel the waters lap my feet, the ice of long ago.

I think of times, of distant past when God, this land, He built.

How could a soul sit where I sit and not see God’s own quilt.