Clare
@NunavutBirder@mas.to  ·  activity timestamp 5 days ago
Poem: Why would you want to live in the Arctic? A question asked of me often these 25 years This morning I am standing where Inuit have lived, since time began Their houses, dot this place Circles in the tundra And the stone circles of children’s playhouses Where wild flowers of yellow grow I’m listening to Narwhal breathe As they go about their lives There are dozens. The open water teems I’m watching, but mostly I’m listening The breathing comes from all corners The loud exhale. The sharp inhale Tusks waving, and the flukes as they dive Some breaths whistle Rising in pitch at that exhale And rarely the sound Of a large truck’s engine brakes But mostly that slightly musical breath As they break surface. Steady, and then more rapidly Before they dive under the ice, to hunt Why indeed?
Poem: Why would you want to live in the Arctic? A question asked of me often these 25 years This morning I am standing where Inuit have lived, since time began Their houses, dot this place Circles in the tundra And the stone circles of children’s playhouses Where wild flowers of yellow grow I’m listening to Narwhal breathe As they go about their lives There are dozens. The open water teems I’m watching, but mostly I’m listening The breathing comes from all corners The loud exhale. The sharp inhale Tusks waving, and the flukes as they dive Some breaths whistle Rising in pitch at that exhale And rarely the sound Of a large truck’s engine brakes But mostly that slightly musical breath As they break surface. Steady, and then more rapidly Before they dive under the ice, to hunt Why indeed?
Poem: Why would you want to live in the Arctic? A question asked of me often these 25 years This morning I am standing where Inuit have lived, since time began Their houses, dot this place Circles in the tundra And the stone circles of children’s playhouses Where wild flowers of yellow grow I’m listening to Narwhal breathe As they go about their lives There are dozens. The open water teems I’m watching, but mostly I’m listening The breathing comes from all corners The loud exhale. The sharp inhale Tusks waving, and the flukes as they dive Some breaths whistle Rising in pitch at that exhale And rarely the sound Of a large truck’s engine brakes But mostly that slightly musical breath As they break surface. Steady, and then more rapidly Before they dive under the ice, to hunt Why indeed?
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