Here the rain has come and gone for the day.

The windows are dripping as the fire is burning
and the sun sets the clouds aflame.

Breathe in the swish of salt air, and the spice
of all the earth
that tumbles down the hillsides; born again,
and lies safe in the garden,
punctuating the perfume
of dusk,
rich with smoke, laden with the words of the sea.

It breathes again and so do you,
learning that even a crash can come softly.
Here peace and quiet will come as surely as spring
as the fog melts away.

Here the hawks are singing in their perfect silence,
and the rocks are wrestling the waves
as only brothers do.

Here the dove cries its mourning as it turns east again,
and the breeze calls you somewhere forgotten.

Here the sun is dripping through the cracks in the clouds;
its distant diamonds are drifting to sea.

Here the bluffs are steadfast and the trees are alive
and when you sleep, the ocean—it whispers.
Of all the lullabies, hers is the oldest,
the most calm, the softest, the coldest.

Here the ocean froths white in the still dawning hours
as it laughs along with the gulls.
At noon it leaps aground on the cliffs
and the sun twists its mists into rainbows.

Here hours are eons and a week is a breath,
for nothing stays gold but the sun.

Here the stars are much closer when the sky ripples black
and the Earth is not all that there is.

Here the food holds new flavors and the wine tastes far richer;
each breath grants new life on its own.

But listen
to each wave as it tells you the lesson
the ocean itself knows too well:
though all time here is yours
it should never be squandered,
love and learn all of this
while it lasts.