The North Shore Beckons by Karen I. Shragg
I can hear her conifers beckoning
From my perch
Behind the keys of my computer
Where I dwell surrounded by the din of a city
Who lost her soul to growth long ago
I wonder
In what mood will I find Superior
When I finally arrive at her doorstep?
I recall the wildness of her sweet shores
So iconic, dappled with mergansers, towering waterfalls
People-free horizons and sunrises that humble
But that was long before her popularity
Crippled her
The rocks that have long taken her beating
Are likely the only things which remain unchanged
Still, I will try to ignore the wider roads and billboards
The traffic and the felled trees
And enjoy her majesty once more.