1980s
Meltwater on the outwash plain, where I learned to read a moraine
The tide-line stones I was sent to map, sorted by size
Camp two under the cliff, the tents pegged to boulders
The sailing ship that brought the fuel drums, three weeks late
Twilight over the sound in what should have been the middle of the night
The dark valley beyond the ice, never reached that year
The calm morning we took the samples, the only calm morning
The hut on the shore at low cloud
The barren ridge we walked to twice for one rock
The eroded ice at the edge of the sound, the last roll of the seasonMy first season, as a student on someone else's grant. I shot six rolls and finished four of them in the first fortnight because I could not believe the light.