I have this recurring fantasy. I travel to northern Ontario and hire a bush pilot who flies me to the Great Slave Lake. It is a one way trip. I carry my trusty Ronco Survival Knife that I bought for $19.95 in a weak moment a few years ago after watching one of those late night infomercials. The top of the large serrated hunting knife is a compass, which screws off to reveal fish hooks, a bit of line, some matches, a folded up saw. I take one eighth of my ancestors with me, the Cherokee relations. I will survive the bitter cold and the bears and wolves. I will fish, find wild berries and rob honey trees. Lichen broths are supposed to be nutritious, even tasty, I understand.
filling the feeders
I watch for
the Northern Flicker
(Published Simply Haiku - Spring 2009)
Copyright 2009 -2010, Thomas Martin, all rights reserved.