ancient in me is a Viking nature
its chords are in the sinews of my hand
a brief tendency to claw I tender touch
a raw inheritance…a boon to thought
for days when breeze is from the north
I am drawn to roughness and to vagrancy
I know the urgency of sail with sea wind
bass keel push…moaning of the hull
then it is I exit through low windows
choose rain pooled muddy trails
gnaw on wintergreen and sorrel
climb mulberry…cram fulsome to
my mouth its sour sweet stain
Bonnie Marshall
Artwork by Nicholas Roerich
Proem... 
Bonnie, you took me back hundreds of years when life was close to the bone.
Thank you very much, Sharon. It was fun to write…comes from being raised in woodland…had the run of it.
after i re-read the poem i realized why i prefer walking in a cold, wind-driven rain rather than sitting in a too-warm house. and actually, i didn’t just read the poem, i experienced it, thanks to your skillful writing.
Glad to know it interested you, Michael. Actually, I’m hoping for warm Spring, too.
Lovely, really. What a thoughtful way of acknowledging these ghosts built into us.
In an odd way such imaginings are comforting. Know I value your comment. Smile.