Across white fields of mounting snow

You sense the winds begin to slow,

Then feel them bite into your side;

Your ashen snout will be your guide

Amongst the zephyr’s gentle flow.

 

You glide along because you know

That in the distance far below

A ringed seal has been supplied —

Across white fields…

 

You track its movements high and low

And shift your stride because you know

That even though it can’t be eyed

The air’s embrace has never lied.

A fragrant glint, a sweet shadow.

Across white fields…

Give the right wind conditions, polar bears can smell a seal from more than 30 km away (Photo Credit: Alan Wilson).

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