Our
Our summer is here—
There’s fog some mornings, burns off ‘bout twelve or one,
& the day heats up;
& again, fog returns, sometimes evening, sometimes middle
of the night,
though sometimes not at all—
The new day then begins, already the Sun shouting bright.
It is the daily—weekly changing—cycle of the season;
however our weather is skewed, Her cycle will surely
come round
again.
Why people come is no secret, here to the cliffs,
overlooking the wharf—
A subtle breeze guarantees the day will stay cool;
& there’s not a cloud in the pale hazy dome, a milky blue;
there’s scarcely hint of wave, only the beachward drift,
only the drift,
only the drift...
& eventually the lap expires quietly upon sand...
The few surfers find but small swell, here, at the famous
of
Fog has nearly burned off completely across the maiden Bay—
The
a reminder always of Her circumscribed form.
Kelp beds bloom a short distance offshore, making mottled patterns
in the glassy surface;
the heads of sea otters you might catch a glimpse of,
poking through;
& pelicans come in for dives,
& gulls & the occasional swallow fly;
& out on the blue satin are sailboats, kayaks,
a rowboat or two, a speedboat or two.
I walk down steps, then carefully on slant, wet rocks I stand
where surfer path meets wave—but tide pools itself now
& is so remarkably aqua clear & clean, my eyes delight in it,
to look through it, to see all the varied algae & anemones clumped
in mosaics on rocks
below the surface.
And the rocks at my feet, the crevices between them,
are alive—
Thumb-sized crabs catch my shadow & scurry away;
how they jump sideways, almost glide in a fast frame motion.
As I still myself, after a few moments,
one, two, three, of them
begin to tentatively creep out;
I watch them feed—their claws pick at things I cannot see,
their little mouth maxillipeds comb continuously.
We will always want it to be this way—
Our
in 1992,
currently the largest of all—
is indeed a maiden of beauty, surprises & riches
treasured by all.
To gaze into aqua clear & clean tide water & give thanks
to the source of all life on Earth—
Or as two Danish girls & a boy have clambered down the steps
& stand nearby—their parents watching from above—
thrill to the white bubbly wave that now smashes upon the rocks
in front of us,
splashing us with laughter—
We will always want Her to be here in all Her splendor.
Why we come is no secret.
August 1998