Thursday, July 14, 2016

On Puget Sound

Air Earth Fire Water

A misty drizzle falls over Puget Sound—
enters every living thing
thimble berries I pick from the roadside—
berries red, soft, tender
stain my fingers red
flood my tongue with tang.

Water seeps into leaves, grass, me.
I’m as damp as the black crenelated slug
crossing the forest path with deliberate gravity.

Under a lush green cedar bough I lean
against its stout rough trunk—
I feel the qi in flowing through every living thing
And in water, minerals, earth and from
the sun cupped yellow marsh marigolds.

A sweetness breathes from pink rose hedges,
chicory stands sentinel for my blue longing
 Ferns breathe green ideas 
 into the fallen leaves
Mist falls on an unseen singer haunting
the forest canopy with  unearthly scales of notes.
Imbued, baptized the networks of roots under
my boots know I am here—the news
travels all the way to the salty Sound.

Octopus, seals, sea otters hear the news.
They know my love of them and the gray whale
I greeted in the Baja last winter breaches
its great body as it looks shore ward.
We are all joined in this joy.

                                      --Barbara Spring

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