I heard it up north—
The ocean connects us all here on Earth,
Present the moment this planet gave birth.
And we heard her cry, on our journey up north.
Some set forth on this passage in search of trade routes, or to simply gain lore,
But, to us, this harrowing journey meant more.
A place I have come to truly adore.
From west to east, at seventy degrees,
We became well acquainted with Arctic seas—
As well as the sting of their bitter, brisk breeze.
Many call home where polar bears roam,
Where ice sheets stretch and blanket the foam.
In the coldest of places, we were met with warm graces—
At each stop emerged smiling faces.
The ice edge retreating, the guillemots fleeting,
People move higher as their sea lines take a beating.
Homes sit on the ledge like seals on the floe—
This land is under attack; the ocean let us know.
A snack to the waves in constant motion,
Windstorms churn in chaotic commotion,
Their land now a feast to this hungry beast,
Whose life a source of food and tradition, at least.
The changing climate they cannot ignore
Where the ocean doesn’t knock—
Fists pound at their door.
Yet, though the ocean sounds, these are still lively towns:
ATVs ripping through dusty dirt roads,
where snowmobiles and sleds lie waiting in rows
For winter’s return and the soft hush of snow.
What it’s like in the dark, I still don’t know
But I imagine a world where sharp winds blow,
Where mush dogs run and stew pots steam,
And by fireplaces, friendly faces gleam.
Still, few dare sail through these parts—
A challenging feat for even the bravest of hearts.
The ice covers blue and calms the tide,
Bringing stillness—and time—to reflect inside.
And it does reflect: the albedo effect.
Radiation reflected by frozen white sheets,
While the ocean below absorbs much of its heat.
I saw it myself with my very own eyes,
On our journey east, just after sunrise.
The sun tucked behind a grey cloud with grace,
Its beams, still exposed, bounced off the ice face.
I watched carefully as the magic unfolded—
They lit up the clouds, whose bottoms turned golden.
The grey turned gold in this planet of cold,
Where we sailed through whispers and stories untold.
The ice—a master of deception and disguise—
Reflected rays confused our eyes.
Where do we go? There’s no avoiding the floe—
We search for a lead. Once we find it, we’ll know.
And as we weaved our way east, my fondness only grew
For the people, the land, the great Arctic view.
Though ice can pain, it serves a purpose—
Cooling the Earth, protecting its surface.
Where tundra lay flat, the ice did too—
But now, mountainous land jets out of the blue.
And the ice rises with it—towering, proud,
From sea ice to glaciers that parade us out.
Still echoing in my ears sounds the ocean’s shout:
The sea ice is melting,
The oceans are belting—
And I know,
Because I heard it up north.
-Tess