By Catherine Sawers
You don’t know the meaning
Of the word panic until
You’ve seriously weighed the likelihood
That a coyote will find your frozen body.
Nothing can be more terrifying
Than the sun setting behind the hill
And your legs are frozen like a block of wood
And your trousers only get more bloody.
When there’s no one to hear your screaming
You have to protect your throat from the chill
When clawing at the ice does no good
Because your thrashing makes the lake more slushy.
When every choice is about how to remain living
And the arctic gale on your cheek is shrill
You think that surely your goose is cooked
And can’t believe that you acted so rashly.
There’s no time for rueful misgivings
If you want to get back to your ville
In a while your legs will be thawed
And you’ll live to tell an incredible story.