I don't miss the flowers
That barely ever grow
in certain places
I love the most, on this peninsula.
On Lake Superior's northern shore
Where fists of icy water
Pound against a warrior's shield
Of angled sedimentary stone
Never to surrender.
Up in the mountains – Porcupine
On the Escarpment Trail
It's magma formed hill tops – basalt
The wind swept tree groves
Oddly twisted, bent and old.
Or underneath the virgin pines
The ancient wood of masts
Decades of fallen needles...loam
As deep as winter snow
Lay quiet, dark and brown.
And by the rivers running north
Down steep rock slides and falls
The spring floods wild
To free at last
The eldest fossil rocks.