Imagine endless blue, imagine an absence dumb
with extinction – polar bear, penguin, walrus, whale –
unfrozen oceans where once you could walk from
shore to shore. Then imagine the absence of cool,
imagine having to imagine the drip, drip of glaciers,
or ice-bergs the size of a hundred Titanics. Now
imagine the absence of language for this – frost
floe, glacier, icicle, arctic, the Inuit words for snow –
the loss of flake, blizzard, drift, white-out,
and the present tense of the verb ‘to ski’.
Imagine the lack of glitter, ice-patterned glass,
the creak and crack of winter puddles, the clink
and dazzle of crystals hanging from a lip of rock.
Header Image Credit: Merryn Glover
Kathleen Jones
Kathleen Jones is a poet and biographer living in the Lake District – a passionate environmentalist. Author of four poetry collections: Not Saying Goodbye at Gate 21, Templar Poetry 2011, The Rainmaker’s Wife, Indigo Dreams 2017, Mapping Emily, Templar 2017, and Hunger, Maytree Press 2022.
www.kathleenjones.co.uk
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