Archive
09/22/08 - (3)
Late-Afternoon Daydreaming, on the Dock
In the taller of the two patriarchal white pines (It has to be at least 150 feet high, Two hundred years old) in the lot next to my cabin,
There are a half-dozen or so vociferous crows Frenetically flapping, from limb to limb, Keeping vigil over something only they can fathom.
My eyes, drawn to the top of that vertiginous tree, By the sound of the birds' black caterwauling, Keep going higher and deeper, into the opalescent sky,
As if being beckoned to catch a ride On one of the cumulus clouds swiftly drifting past, Heading in a direction I've never charted,
Which should be perfect, regardless, For where I'd like to end up, come sunset (Let's just say I revel in taking my chances).
When vision finally climbs down the giant pine, No crows are raucously caw-cawing. Now, the waves, chasing those clouds, beckon me.
09/22/08 - (3)
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