Like Leviathan of old, the rough, angry ocean pummels the basalt shore and coughs up its denizens of the deep
California Gray Whales breach the surface of the autumnal Oregon waters, slide over the waves like seals on a hunt, their colors mingling perfectly with the yellow-tinged whitecaps, their bodies aimed perfectly at migration south.
How innocent they sound as their songs penetrate the cacophony of the crashing surf.
How magnificent they sound; untranslated poetry, haunting love lyrics, caressing the beloved with a sonata of sonar.
Like a child, they sing for joy, and the sea turns a deaf ear.
But I hear them. and am transfixed by their emotion and intelligence. They sing to me, a mammalian serenade at dusk.
I dare not sing back for fear of failure. Of foolishness.
Yet I weep to hear them sing again, once more, before their majestic passing to the milder seas of Mexico.