14 JANUARY 1966, Page 20

North of Labrador

Over the sears of ice We fly.

Slabs with jagged edees, piled here forever, They lie upended. flung against each other, In the white fields of air and circling birds, Of snow, and land torn from the long blind end Of a continent. Here boundaries are lost, Land and sea tumbled, all things frozen together, Wrecks and memories lying in frozen water.

Faster, faster. plane!

Our little shadow flies across the ice.

The engines roar: the engine fires flicker.

How powerful our sound in our own cars, In the white air. DOROTHY G ILBERT