SNOWING
It’s snowing, but there is nothing falling.
I walk along the road in February and feel
I am almost airborne. The snow swirls, the wind
softens, there must be a change on the way.
There are edifying poems in the obituaries
and I think of Carl XII, the Swedish king
who attempted to lead his army over Lauvåsen ridge,
along the very road I am now following. Carolus
did not make it. Soldiers and peasants were plentiful in
the entrenchments, admittedly, but the greatest obstacle
was the snow that had fallen thick and fast in March 1716.
The Swedish army had to cross the ridge in a column.
The deep snow prevented them from making a
fan-shaped attack, and their secret weapon was a failure.
I walk along the road that has lain here since the time
of the great migration, and cross in triumph.
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