Day two at the Lake

(Sorry this is 2 days late--access to the internet is limited in the wilderness)

‘Tis the day after Christmas

‘Tis the day after Christmas and up at the lake,
The snow here is real, it isn’t a fake.
The chipmunks are nestled all snug in their beds,
My skis barely miss running over their heads.

With more than a foot of fresh snow on the ground,
The deer tracks suggest there are critters around.
With me on my skis and a toque on my head,
I take off alone; Soulmate’s still in her bed.

When what to my wondering eye should appear
But a trail with fresh snow—no one else has been here.
I bushwhack with race skis, the powder’s knee deep,
What a workout this is, my form takes a leap.

Then down the trail there arose such a clatter,
I spook five deer, they jump up and scatter.
The trail is quite narrow, the going is slow,
I brush some branches, my neck fills with snow.

Four laps on the woods’ path, and now I can ski--
No grooming done here, but at least it is free.
The track is now firm, laid down with care,
Alas, snowmobilers soon will go there.

Back at the cabin, brunch awaits on the table,
I sit by the fire happy to be able
To spend a week in a place of delight—
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!