Amber star sapphire glistens
atop jagged Alberta Mountain.
Blustery winds strip Abraham Lake
of its fleecy blanket, expose
a stunning phenomenon.
Our breaths form cloud-like puffs.
Before crowds gather, we pull
on our skates at Preacher’s Point,
glide across the reservoir.
Woolen scarves unfurl.
Blades etch figure-eights
into the aquamarine ice.
Strands of milky bubbles
draw our eyes beneath the surface.
We kneel. Our gloved fingers
trace over the suspended baubles.
Lips form oohs and aahs.
I stand then chip with my skate
to release one of nature’s pearls,
a trapped bubble of methane gas,
until my friend grabs my arm,
pleads, “Don’t take the risk.”
I topple and glare.
Frigid gusts chafe our cheeks.
My friend waves and dashes
to the safety of the shoreline.
The lake chides me with grumbles.
I hesitate for one more look
before I retreat.
How much longer will opaque beads
adorn the lake and allure onlookers?
Soon Chinook winds howl a warning.
Stay away. Ice clouds, cracks, pops.
The lake safeguards her gems
with frozen shards until the thaw
when gas erupts. If ignited,
flares pepper the lake, framed
by the Canadian Rocky Mountains.
We shiver, not from the cold,
but from viewing
the awe-inspiring gift
of translucent winter jewels.
—
Suzanne Cottrell writes poetry, flash fiction, and creative nonfiction, which have appeared in numerous online and print journals and anthologies. She’s the author of three poetry chapbooks: Gifts of the Seasons, Autumn and Winter & Spring and Summer, and Scarred Resilience, and a hybrid book, Nature Calls Outside My Window: A Collection of Poems and Stories. She is an outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, who enjoys reading, writing, knitting, hiking, yoga, and Pilates. www.suzanneswords.com.
