We walk on water like land.

It could be a field

except we slide across the surface

and see below it the frozen form of algae

the perfect white circle of a bubble

caught and preserved.

 

The sun sets over the wooded hill

its dim light turns the snow blue.

I watch two men, the only ones out today,

walk slowly out to the middle of the lake.

 

I feel myself walking these months on slippery ground,

a foundation not a foot deep

wondering if I tread safely

or if I will step and be submerged.

 

If I think about the brilliance of the sun

and look up to the pink of the clouds

and down to the pale blue of the snow

then I can keep putting one foot in front of the next.

Why have we left the safety of the shore?

What is out here for us?

— Laura Lasuertmer for the Poplar Grove Muse