December 31, 2014 8:11AM 15degrees #53
This morning’s sun is a circle Dressed in gray floating clouds And the Himalayas are resting Just off shore.
Super high tide. Quiet in the dunes. Bright ocean smells. Blue ice on the march.
The salt pans like mirrors With Not One Duck.
The grasses have lost all green Not thirst, but cold that does it. The North Pool anticipates visitors, But none today.
Red in the birches Sunlight on the branches Crystals in the grass.
Waxwings with a black crest, Yellow tail, Stripe of white, Down it’s sides.
The winter robins in a flock, Catching the morning sun On red berries.
In the meadow the Hawk Sits on the peak.
The Harrier dive bombs him But, so what?
He leaves when he is ready, Wings wide over the river.
A walk on the beach. Cold, cold.
Tide going low.
Sand dollars and solitude.
And on the dirt road, Slow.
A Bald Eagle comes over the meadow And flies low to show its whole self To me.
And slowly lifting high, From the clouds to the blue And south.
A blessing from my father.
On the way home The Harrier flies low
Following the curves of the river. A New Year!