Ancient woods nestle softly,
Beneath their down of glistening snow.
Imperceptibly, the Adirondack Dome rises,
The cloaked giant ascends,
Reaching toward the North Star, shining star,
Over millions of years.
Durant’s trains are silenced now,
And the logging camps are dormant.
But the mountains live and the conifers breathe.
Chains of lakes sparkle like glittering molten glass,
Moose River Plains run wild,
Animals forage and the black bear sleeps,
Pines dressed in white lacy skirts surround
Wooden Camps glowing warmly from within.
This is the season of peace,
Of hope, of continuity, of life cherished,
Of renewal by a blessed light rising,
Making all one,
As it has always done.